The World I Leave Behind
by NES85
Summary: Harry went into the forbidden forest to let Voldemort kill him, but was taken prisoner, instead. He is believed to be dead, and Ginny, Ron, and Hermione struggle to find a way forward. Canon is followed up to Chapter 34 of Deathly Hallows. Please R&R.
1. Prologue: Restless Night

**The World I Leave Behind**  
Prologue: Restless Night

Ginny Weasley lay twisted in bed sheets, unmoving, her wide eyes staring aimlessly into the darkness of her room. Some nights she didn't cry; this night she did. Silent tears crept across freckles, dampening the pillow beneath her cheek. She lay there — listless, senseless — her mind stuck on the dream that had woken her, the one that haunted her nearly every night:

_Celebration, joy, euphoria — her Gryffindor team had won the Quidditch cup! A childhood of feeling left out and left behind, of sneaking outside at night to fly her brothers' brooms, of fighting to prove that she could hold her own, had led to this wonderful moment._

_And there he was. His emerald eyes blazed as they found her from across the room, and in them she saw reflected the fire that she'd held for him for years. She ran at him instinctively, without thought, threw her arms around him, and…he kissed her. With no hint that he had ever felt for her what she had for him, he was kissing her and something that had lain dormant and neglected inside of her burst to life and took flight._

The torment always came when Ginny woke up.

Harry Potter had been dead for a year.

* * * * * * *

Ron Weasley dropped into his seat at the kitchen table and bit into his sandwich. The house was eerily quiet in the middle of the night — being a notoriously sound sleeper, he wasn't used to the Burrow without plenty of lamps lit and redheads making noise. But then, he supposed, home hadn't been as lively as it once was. Not since everything had gone so wrong. Ron sighed and put down his snack; his appetite wasn't what it used to be.

He'd come a long way in the past many months, officially joining the Order of the Phoenix and training every day, pushing himself harder than he ever had at Hogwarts. He smiled wistfully as he imagined, for probably the hundredth time, how astonished Hermione would be if she saw how seriously he was now taking his studies. Since very few places were safe outside the Burrow, he could either work to be ready to fight when the time came or simply stare at the walls. But it certainly wasn't boredom that drove him. People that he loved had been murdered, and he — along with the rest of the Order — were the only ones left to avenge them and stop Voldemort from taking over for good. Ron knew how bad things looked, how much the odds were stacked against them, but he'd be damned if he stopped fighting. Fighting was all he had left.

Ron slumped back in his chair as another recurring thought returned: this is what it had been like for Harry, who had carried the fate of the wizarding world on his shoulders since he was a baby. Sure, Ron had seen his share of danger at Harry's side, but he had always been a follower, leaving it to others — Harry, Hermione, Dumbledore — to lead the way. Ron had decided that it was long past time to step forward and take on his full share of the responsibility.

And he owed it to Harry, who had put his trust in a poor nobody that no one else would have taken a second look at. Harry, his best mate. Harry…who he had failed. If only Ron had stayed with him during the battle…if he hadn't succumbed to his grief over Fred and had kept his head in the fight….

Well, he would soon have a chance at a measure of redemption. Thinking of what he had to do, Ron felt the familiar nervousness return, but also his resolve — he wouldn't let his family or the Order down. This was too important; the stakes were too high.

Standing up from the table, Ron ran a hand through his hair. If only Hermione were here. He would see her soon, though, for the mission. What a strange way to reconnect after almost a year apart…. What should he say to her? He wasn't sure how he would react, and that wasn't helping his anxiety about the job he had to do.

The creek of a stair pulled Ron from his thoughts the moment before Ginny appeared in the kitchen doorway. Her darkened eyes told him everything he needed to know. Wordlessly, he walked to his sister and placed her head on his shoulder.

His heart ached for her. Even after all this time, her wounds seemed so fresh. Nobody else, not even his mum, knew just how much Ginny was still hurting. She put up a tough front, but when it all became too much, when she was weak, she would turn to him. Having lost the love of her life, and he his best mate, had made them very close.

When she started dating Harry it had bothered him so much….

Now he'd give anything for her to have him back.

* * * * * * *

Hermione Granger awoke to find that she'd fallen asleep at her desk again, her head resting between pages 814 and 815 of _Working with Wards: Building Them Up and Breaking Them Down_, which was stacked on top of her well-worn copy of _Hogwarts: A History_. She sat up slowly and rubbed at a crick in her neck. The clock on the wall read 1:42 AM; her parents, always early to bed, had surely been asleep for hours.

She went to the kitchen to put on a fresh pot of coffee; despite the fact that her body ached for sleep, her work tonight wasn't done. Even after weeks of research, Bill still needed her to help track down a few key pieces of information, and she was almost out of time. Soon she would take her findings back to the magical world, which she had left behind nearly a year ago upon returning to her family home. Her role in the upcoming mission would also take her back to the place that once felt like home, but now haunted her nightmares — Hogwarts. She could still picture the horrible scenes as if the battle had happened yesterday; could still feel the castle rumble as it finally gave way to hordes of invading Death Eaters; could still hear Ron's outrage and Ginny's desperate cries as they were forced to escape through the Room of Requirement to The Hog's Head, not knowing what had become of Harry.

Sitting back at her desk, Hermione wiped an eye and took a sip from her warm mug. Truth be told, if she could trust anyone else to find the answers that Bill needed in time, she would have stayed far away from this mission. She had run simple reference checks, brewed a few potions, and helped the Order in other ways, but this would take her back into the thick of things. With Professor McGonagall in the hands of the Death Eaters, however, Hermione knew more about Hogwarts and its history than anyone else available. It was protected by centuries of magic put in place by some of the best witches and wizards of every age. At first the idea of breaking through its protections had seemed laughable, but months of research had given her some hope. Plus, Bill Weasley was no average curse-breaker.

The name "Weasley" stuck in Hermione's head. She pulled a picture frame from a desk drawer and sighed as she ran her fingers over the moving photo that Colin had taken near the end of her sixth year. Harry sat cuddled with Ginny by the fire in the Gryffindor common room, and — oblivious to the photo being taken — whispered in her ear, causing her to giggle. Ron, who was playing chess nearby, rolled his eyes from the couple to Hermione, then blushed and turned back to his game when she returned his look with a smile.

Hermione placed the frame back in the drawer, on top of several unopened letters addressed to her in Ron's handwriting. She didn't like to think of the people she'd left behind, especially Ron. She missed him more than he could possibly know, and she absently wondered if he felt the same. She cringed at the realization that she _hoped_ their parting still hurt him as much as it did her. What a horrible, selfish witch she was. _She_ was the one that left, leaving behind a very hurt and confused Ron. What would Harry have thought of her? She closed her book and rested her head in her hands.

Nobody could possibly understand what she had been through; where her mind was at…they weren't _there_. They didn't see what she had seen. To have that kind of shock so soon after the battle at Hogwarts, which had already shaken her to the core….

But she knew they deserved better from her. Ron…and Ginny, who had thought of her as a sister. Merlin, _Ginny_…. A fresh wave of guilt swept across Hermione as she remembered the girl's heartbreaking reaction to the news that Harry had been killed — it had destroyed her. The free-spirited, mischievous, defiant Ginny she knew had become an empty shell, hardly ever leaving her room, eating, or speaking. And when she needed help the most, Hermione ran away. Some "sister." Even if Harry could have forgiven her for hurting Ron, surely he wouldn't have let her off the hook for abandoning Ginny.

Shaking her head, Hermione forced her thoughts back to the job at hand. If they were somehow able to pull this plan off, it would give the Order something to rally around and revitalize the resistance. Would she fully return to the wizarding world then? She had never intended to stay away for good, just long enough to get her head straight. And if she went back, what about her parents? Hermione knew that she had been selfish in restoring their memories and bringing them home — they had been safer far away in Australia without the knowledge that they had a daughter who was hunted by an army of dark wizards. But like a child, she needed her mum and dad to make her feel safe and normal. Just as it was when it came to everyone else she supposedly cared for, her own needs were the only ones that mattered.

Her face screwed up, Hermione threw her book and it banged hard against the wall, bringing the clock down with it. She was no Gryffindor.

She was a coward.

* * * * * * *

The halls of Hogwarts were deathly silent, as all of the castle's students lay asleep in their beds.

All, except for one.

Far below, in an underground chamber that was secret to but a few, a shriek of raw agony rent the air. Then another. And another. Until finally, a high, cold voice echoed throughout the cavernous depths, cursing in frustration. Then a second voice spoke, quiet and strained.

"Still can't get it…worked out…Tom?" Harry huffed between shaky breaths as he struggled to sit up. "Are you sure that…_both_ your parents weren't muggles?"

Lord Voldemort, who had stormed away in anger, slowly turned his head to face the enemy he hated so much; the thorn in his side that he simply could not remove. His red, slit eyes bored into Harry with purest loathing.

"Or maybe your mother was a _squib_…that might explain it," Harry said, before turning to cough up blood.

"You tempt me, boy," hissed the Dark Lord, "but Lord Voldemort will not be tricked into rash actions. Until I succeed in reclaiming the piece of my soul that was erroneously placed in you, I shall simply take whatever enjoyment I can from our…experiments."

He knelt before Harry, who turned away from the snake-like face as it spat its venomous words.

"But I can still hurt and kill _others_, can't I, Harry? The Mudbloods and blood-traitors who foolishly stood with you against the greatest wizard that has ever lived."

"Well," he added with a sneer, "the ones you haven't _already_ gotten killed, anyway." Harry shook with rage, but did not respond.

"Like the Weasley girl…. Yes, she could provide an enjoyable…distraction. A blood traitor like her could still serve a purpose for her master…."

Voldemort leaned closer to whisper into Harry's ear: "Perhaps she already has."

Harry snapped his head around to glare at his captor's smug, satisfied face. He tried to control his emotions, but knew that Riddle had gotten the reaction he wanted. Without another word, Voldemort stood and swept from the Chamber, hissing at the exit to seal itself shut behind him.

A held breath escaped Harry as he finally gave in to his wrecked body, sputtering coughs and falling to the floor in agony. After several moments he pushed himself to his knees and crawled to a nearby corner. In the chamber's eerie, eternal green glow, he sifted through the rubble that lay there until he settled on a cracked black stone. With trembling hands, he turned the stone over three times.

"Harry…."

Dumbledore's voice was soft and his face full of concern as his shimmering form knelt to inspect his former student.

"Professor…Ginny —"

"Is perfectly fine, warm in her bed at The Burrow. The protections have not been disturbed. I asked Fred Weasley to check as soon as I heard the despicable threat leave Tom's vile lips."

Harry relaxed onto his back, looking up in relief at the comforting blue eyes that surveyed him over half-moon spectacles. After taking a slow, steadying breath, Harry spoke in a weak voice. "Ask Fred to…keep an eye on her, will you? And everyone else?"

Dumbledore gave a faint smile. "Of course, Harry. But I doubt we will be asking him to perform any task that he has not already undertaken. Now, your wounds —"

"I'm too weak…it'll have to wait." Harry's eyelids began to fall as darkness closed in around him. "Just…just tell Fred…." And then he was still.

Dumbledore's sad smile faded away, and then, so did he.

* * * * * * *

The Boy Who Lived _still_ lived, and the key to changing the course of the war and finishing Voldemort once and for all was contained within him.

But after a year of captivity, he remained trapped with no hope of escape or rescue.

Nobody even knew he was alive.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Next:

Just over one year ago, Harry Potter went into the forbidden forest to face Lord Voldemort alone, ready to die. How did he survive? How did he come to be in the Chamber of Secrets? And how did he regain the Resurrection Stone? Questions are answered and secrets are revealed as Harry recalls the hellish days that followed the Battle of Hogwarts.

Coming soon, the first chapter of _The World I Leave Behind_, "The Secret in the Chamber."

"You've thrown in with the wrong side, you must see that now."

"I _OWE_ YOU?"

"Harry Potter _likes_ me."

"I wonder…of the two of us, who won in the end?"

"You _wish_ to die."

"Never speak of what happened here…not even to me."

"_Stupefy_!"


	2. Chapter One: The Secret in the Chamber

**The World I Leave Behind**  
Chapter One: The Secret in the Chamber

_Harry's heart pounded like it was trying to escape from his chest. Every instinct screamed at him to run out of the forest, away from the Death Eaters surrounding him, away from Voldemort, away from certain death. But love – love for his friends and those he would call family – kept his feet rooted to the earth. He could do this. He could do this for them._

_Across the clearing, the Dark Lord surveyed him cautiously, his head tilting to the side as he raised his wand. He would cast the Killing Curse at Harry for the second time, and just as before, it would prove to be his undoing. He would destroy the shard of his own soul that had unknowingly been placed in Harry as a baby, taking him one step closer toward his own demise. _

_Harry's breath stopped – Voldemort's wand was in place. It was time. Harry just had to be brave a moment longer. He thought of Ginny._

_And then, Voldemort's brow furrowed and his head tilted in the other direction, as if he was trying to get a better look at the curious scene before him. He seemed to decide something. He cast his spell._

"_Stupefy!"_

* * * * * * *

Harry opened his eyes to the dim green glow that had been his day and his night for the past year. Here in the Chamber of Secrets – hidden deep beneath Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – he had only cavernous rooms, shadowy tunnels, towering stone pillars, and the hard, cold floor that was his bed.

As Harry moved to get up, his body shot him several painful reminders of the previous night's activities – mementos of another nightmarish visit from Lord Voldemort. Harry had been too weakened to tend to his wounds before passing out, but now….

Harry sat up carefully, rested on his knees, and folded his hands in his lap. Head bowed, he silently focused on the incantation. Moments later, his skin began to glow as gashes sealed into small cuts, fractured bones mended, and burnt patches of skin regained their healthy color. He released a deep breath and opened his eyes. His stomach growled, echoing throughout the Chamber. Harry grimaced.

"Shouldn't have done that on an empty stomach," he groaned.

Harry stood and – squinting without the aid of his glasses – spotted the usual rusted serving tray that had been left just inside the Chamber's entrance. Still rather sore, but no longer in any serious pain, he walked over and collected his breakfast. While the presentation left a lot to be desired, Harry's meals were generally good – leftovers, he was sure, from the Hogwarts kitchen high above him. Voldemort needed him well fed and in good health to survive their meetings. Of course, the Dark Lord didn't know about Harry's little healing trick.

The good side of having just been the test subject in another one of Riddle's experiments was that Harry could be reasonably sure his tormentor wouldn't return for several days, possibly weeks. After each failed attempt to reclaim his bit of fractured soul from Harry, Voldemort needed time to research a new approach. And, Harry knew, to also turn his attention to the war. Harry was only able to obtain occasional vague hints of how the war was progressing, but he took some comfort in the fact that a determined, albeit shrinking, resistance movement had so far kept Voldemort from seizing complete control of the wizarding world. But Harry had no way of knowing how long his friends could keep the fight going, which often drove him mad while he, the supposed Chosen One, sat useless in his prison.

Harry took his time eating breakfast; he relished any activity that helped fill the emptiness of his days. That's why he would start this day – as he did all others – with a strict training regimen designed to strengthen both his body and his magic. If – no, _when_ – the opportunity for escape presented itself, he would be ready to make the most of it.

By midday, Harry had worked up quite a sweat doing various exercises, which ended with a run through the Chamber's long, mazelike system of tunnels; the same dank passageways that were once home to a giant Basilisk, whose remains had been removed at some unknown point before Harry's return.

Harry relaxed under a hot shower, which he had figured out how to produce without a wand just as he had learned to heal himself. He stood leaning into a corner with both hands against the wall, letting the water and steam ease the muscles that he'd just put to work. His physical training had clearly taken him a long way; while his body only appeared slightly bulkier when covered by his tattered robes, his muscles were very defined, including – he had to admit – a pretty impressive six-pack.

Not as pleasing were the new scars that Harry had collected during a year's worth of tortuous experiments at the tip of the Elder Wand, which Lord Voldemort now controlled fully. Despite Harry's healing ability, faint marks still remained scattered across his chest, back, and arms.

After casting a drying charm on himself – and a quick "_Tergeo_" to clean his robes – Harry returned to the Chamber's entrance to find that his discarded breakfast tray had been returned with lunch. Kneeling to pick it up, he glanced at the wall bearing the entwined stone snakes that marked the invisible exit – if only he could open it. The snakes had proven unresponsive to his magic or Parseltongue; they only responded to one master, now. And as with the rest of Hogwarts, protective wards prevented anyone from Apparating in or out of the Chamber – so far, at least. As a part of his daily training, Harry continued to reach out with his magic and press against them, but so far he had made little, if any, progress. He wasn't even sure that he _could_ wandlessly Apparate, wards or no wards.

And so, like clockwork, Harry sat down for a slow, leisurely meal before tackling his afternoon magical training. With little else to focus his mind on, his thoughts drifted back to the previous night's dream and he continued to recall the story of how he came to be in this horrible, forgotten place….

- - - - - - -

A panic raced through Harry like none he had ever known – what was he doing in the Chamber of Secrets? How long had he been unconscious? If he was being held here, then Voldemort must have won the battle and gained control of Hogwarts. Did that mean Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and everyone else had…had been…. Harry felt sick as he tried to keep those terrible thoughts at bay.

The last thing he remembered was Voldemort aiming his wand at him, about to cast the Killing Curse…. Why was he even still alive?

Harry had been awake for a few hours, during which he had frantically run through the Chamber's many rooms and tunnels, desperately searching for clues. However, nothing had changed since his previous visit five years prior. After covering the entire area for the third time, he stopped at the exit to once again scream at it in Parseltongue – as before, the stone wall did not open. He slumped down against it and held his face in his hands. His body still suffered from wounds taken during the battle, and after hours of imagining the worst possible scenarios for his friends and himself, he felt as if he was losing his mind.

Just then, the wall that concealed the exit began to rumble, causing Harry to scramble to his feet and back away. The Chamber's eerie green glow illuminated the billowing robes of Lord Voldemort as he strode through, the Elder Wand clutched in his hand. His snakelike face expressed a cold fury that sent a chill down Harry's spine as the Dark Lord's slit eyes bored into him.

"W-where are the others?" Harry sputtered out. "What have you done with –"

"Silence," hissed Voldemort, and with a casual flick of his wand, Harry found that he could not speak.

Voldemort clasped his hands behind his back and slowly walked a circle around his adversary, his piercing gaze trained on Harry curiously as if he was analyzing him. Harry turned his head to follow until Voldemort suddenly stopped, his last step echoing throughout the wide, towering room.

"I am forced to admit that I have repeatedly underestimated you, boy. It is true that you have enjoyed ridiculously good fortune in our previous encounters, and that you are alive today because other wizards, _greater_ wizards, have died to protect you. But still," Voldemort spoke through gritted teeth as if his words took great effort, "You are not without skill and cunning."

Harry listened helplessly, with no voice or wand to respond with.

Voldemort resumed walking and continued to speak, looking toward the high, shadowed ceiling as if talking to himself.

"Certainly, you are brave – I will give you that much. When you came to me in the forest, you may simply have done so in an effort to spare the others. You come from a long line of those who have foolishly sacrificed themselves in a similar fashion. But you have come far in your quest to destroy me – much farther, I must admit, than I ever thought possible of anyone. Dumbledore was, no doubt, the brains behind your plan. Only he could have learned of my Horcruxes and deduced their hiding places. What else might he have schemed? What were his next orders?"

Voldemort once again faced Harry. "Answer Lord Voldemort." He snapped his fingers, and Harry realized that he could speak again. When he did, his voice trembled with fear and rage.

"Your Horcruxes are gone – all that's left is your snake. I kill _it_, then _you_ – that's the plan, and it hasn't changed." Harry's bravado sounded hollow, even to himself.

Voldemort sneered. "You have no wand and no hope. No one – not even my own Death Eaters – know that I have put you here. There can be no escape. You could run through the exit into the hall beyond and still you would be trapped – I have put protections in place that cannot be broken. No wizard can Apparate in or out. And in light of your actions at Malfoy Manor," he added with a knowing glare, "nor can any house-elf."

Voldemort stepped in front of Harry and leaned in close to emphasize his next words. "You…have…_lost_."

Harry spat in his face.

In a flash, Voldemort had thrown Harry to the floor. "_Crucio_!"

Harry's insides were on fire. His screams echoed throughout the cavernous Chamber as he writhed on the ground in unimaginable agony. Voldemort seemed not to notice, taking his time as he wiped his face with his sleeve. After several long, tortuous moments more, the curse finally lifted. Harry became still and silent; only his heavily lidded eyes signaled that he remained conscious.

Voldemort stood over Harry's crumpled form and airily dusted off his robes.

"Now Harry, I trust that you will speak to me with –"

"Is that…the best.…" Harry choked on the whispered words, his throat raw from screaming. "Is that the best…curse you've got?" Harry slowly rolled over to stare up into the smooth, featureless face, which looked back at him incredulously.

"I've had the Cruciatus before…and I have to say…yours is a bit of a letdown…."

Harry knew this wouldn't be as clean and neat as taking the Avada Kedavra in the Forbidden Forest; he would likely have to suffer greatly before meeting his end. But if he could make Voldemort angry enough to forgo his caution, Harry could still fulfill his ultimate destiny: dying to leave Voldemort a step easier for someone else to kill.

He gritted his teeth and pushed himself up to stare into Voldemort's red eyes, putting whatever strength and defiance he had left into his next words.

"I will _never_ stop trying to kill you, Tom…and if you don't finish me now…I swear, one day I will. I'll find a way."

"You _dare_…." Voldemort's shocked expression quickly twisted into a look of fury. When he spoke again, his voice was full of murder.

"I see that another lesson is in order."

The second Cruciatus curse ripped through Harry's ravaged body with even more ferocity than the first. Stars burst before Harry's eyes as his every nerve seemed to explode. The part of him that could still muster a thought prayed for release, prayed for death. He tried to _will_ himself to die, to give in and avoid another second of pain. But the curse would not end, and he began to feel his mind burn away. Voldemort would drive him mad….

Then it stopped, and Harry's mind slowly returned. He vaguely realized that he had bitten deep into his tongue, and that he lay in filth, having lost all bodily control. He was numb, and could not move. Somewhere beyond his view, he heard the high, cold voice speak again.

"You _wish_ to die," pondered Voldemort, speaking to himself as much as his captive. "The battle is over – there is no one left to protect – and still you throw your life away so cavalierly…why?"

Voldemort searched Harry's pale face for answers, and then seemed to decide something. With a resigned expression, he levitated Harry's body to him until they were face to face. As Voldemort looked deep into his eyes, Harry realized what was coming and tried to brace himself. But as his mind was invaded, he found no strength to marshal a defense.

Voldemort grunted, and Harry could sense how it tortured his attacker to enter his thoughts. As it had during their confrontation at the Ministry, the love that Harry felt for his friends made his mind nearly impenetrable to Voldemort. As Harry sensed random thoughts being snatched, rifled through, and tossed aside, he could tell by the shaking, sweating face before him that the intrusion was costing Voldemort dearly. If he could hold on for just a little longer….

But then, in his mind's eye, Harry watched in terror as a memory was pried open – the _key_ memory – and he felt Voldemort's narrow fingers clench into his shoulders as the Dark Lord steadied himself to delve deeper into Harry's most guarded secret.

_In the Headmaster's office, Severus Snape sat across the desk from Albus Dumbledore. The mood was tense as the Headmaster spoke. _

"_On the night Lord Voldemort tried to kill him, when Lily cast her own life between them as a shield, the Killing Curse rebounded upon Lord Voldemort, and a fragment of Voldemort's soul was blasted apart from the whole, and latched itself onto the only living soul left in that collapsing building."_

Outside of Harry's mind, Voldemort's eyes widened in horror as realization dawned.

_Dumbledore continued: "And while that fragment of soul, unmissed by Voldemort, remains attached to and protected by Harry, Lord Voldemort cannot die." _

"_So the boy…the boy must die?" replied Snape. _

"_And Voldemort himself must do it, Severus. That is essential." _

In desperation, Harry grabbed at a memory that had comforted him on many cold nights during his hunt for the Horcruxes:

_He was alone with Ginny in the Gryffindor common room, long after everyone else had gone to bed. He lay on the sofa by the crackling fire with his head in her lap, gazing up into her warm, chocolate eyes as she slowly ran her fingers through his hair. In the dim firelight, flecks of gold glittered across her tresses and twinkled in her eyes. She smiled softly at him…._

With a shriek of pain, Voldemort was blasted from Harry's mind, and they both struck the cold stone floor of the Chamber. Harry lay unconscious, the limits of his body and mind having finally been broken.

- - - - - - -

In the unchanging, windowless dungeon that was the Chamber of Secrets, Harry could only guess how much time had passed since he arrived – two days, probably…maybe more.

He sat in a corner with his knees bent to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. His lingering wounds ached terribly, and he was starved and dehydrated, having had nothing to eat or drink since his arrival. He couldn't stop his body from shaking. He had slept very little, as he remained sick with worry for his friends. His mind had forced every possible nightmarish scene upon him: Hermione dead. Ron tortured. Death Eaters surrounding a lone and helpless Ginny, who screamed Harry's name as they closed in around her….

In Harry's half-alive, half-awake state, these unbidden images fluttered in and out of his consciousness. Mixed with the fear were a growing sense of anger and the face of Albus Dumbledore.

Dumbledore: the great schemer who had planned out everything; who had raised Harry like a pig for slaughter. Hadn't Harry followed all of his old headmaster's directions, even when they called for his suicide? What more could anyone have asked of him – what more could he have _given_? For years Harry had put all of his trust into the aged wizard, and what had it gotten him? Locked away by Voldemort, with everyone he had ever cared for probably dead….

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, spilling hot tears down his face. He could face death – he had always known that his path would likely end in it – but he couldn't die without knowing what had happened to the others.

And so he had sat in limbo as every agonizing moment melted into minutes, into hours, into days….

Until at last the bricks that sealed the exit again shuffled to life, stone scraping stone as they shaped an opening to the hall beyond. Still shaking, Harry made to scramble to his feet, realizing with movement how frail he had become. Panting heavily with effort and rising panic, he raised himself against the wall to meet his unseen visitor. Squinting at the doorway – for he had awoke a day or so ago to find his glasses suddenly missing – Harry slowly made out the blurry form that entered.

Lucius Malfoy moved into the Chamber, his eyes roaming over its details for what was likely the first time. Finally his gaze landed on Harry, and his expression turned to one of purest hatred. Harry slowly registered that Lucius held a tray in his hands, which appeared to hold food and a pitcher. Harry had to resist the impulse to run over to it.

Lucius began to walk toward him, and as he came closer, Harry noticed that the Death Eater's robes – which had always been immaculate and of the highest quality – were dirty and torn. His shoulder-length pale blonde hair was similarly messy, and his face seemed sunken and drained. His haughty demeanor remain unchanged, however, as he stopped in front of Harry and looked down his nose at him, a sneer forming on his lips.

They stood face-to-face in a tense silence for several long moments, neither breaking eye contact. Lucius sucked in a deep breath between clenched teeth as if preparing to speak, but then tightened his lips into a thin line and remained silent. He dropped the tray at Harry's feet, causing a sharp metal pang to echo off the walls. Water, bread, mashed potatoes, and food that Harry didn't immediately recognize splattered onto the stone floor. The now-empty pitcher spun slowly on the ground as Harry returned his eyes to Lucius, who glared back at him for a few seconds more. Then, he turned his back on Harry and made to leave.

"What…" Harry's voice cracked from disuse. "What happened…to the others?"

Lucius walked on as if he hadn't heard the question.

"Where are they?" he repeated, his voice rising. "Are they dead?"

Lucius was almost to the exit and still gave no response.

In mounting anger and desperation, Harry screamed, "SPEAK TO ME, DAMN IT! YOU _OWE_ ME – I SAVED YOUR SON'S WORTHLESS LIFE!"

Instantly, Lucius spun around and charged at Harry, who only briefly saw a face twisted in rage before a fist slammed into his jaw, knocking him to the floor. Harry landed hard on his side, and before he could fully realize what had happened, he felt a boot crush into his chest…then another kick…and another. Harry gasped for air, dazed by pain, only half-aware of Lucius bending down to look at him.

"I OWE YOU?" Lucius bellowed. "YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT, I OWE YOU! FOR RUINING MY LIFE!" Harry felt another kick slam into him. "FOR COSTING ME EVERYTHING!" And another. "FOR COSTING ME MY SON!" A boot stomped down on the side of Harry's face, and he vaguely realized that some of his teeth had been shattered.

The attacks and shouting stopped and Harry rolled around, gulping for air. Lucius took a step back, and after a brief pause, spoke again. His voice was lower, but held a dangerous edge.

"My family should have known power and honor above all others at the Dark Lord's side. _We_ were the most loyal, the most worthy…no family line is more noble or of purer blood. But then the _famous_ Harry Potter – the 'Chosen One,' a half-blood brat raised by Muggles – had to stick his nose into everything; had to _ruin_ everything…."

As Lucius ranted, paced, and gestured wildly, Harry pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and spat out a mouthful of blood and broken teeth. As full feeling and awareness returned to him, so did excruciating new pains. Every movement caused a stabbing sensation in his side; he thought he must have cracked or broken ribs.

"You constantly shamed my son in school. You stole my house-elf and destroyed the diary that I kept for my Lord. You shattered the prophecy that my master had charged me with retrieving, and I was sent to Azkaban, my family name ruined. When you escaped from my home, we paid a terrible price. And…and…."

Lucius stopped moving and his gaze became distant, unfocused.

"And because my son defied our Lord's orders to join him in battle – had stayed inside the castle to find and capture you, instead – the Dark Lord made an example…of him…. He killed Draco right in front of me…and his mother…."

Shocked, Harry turned his head to look up at Lucius's anguished face, which changed back to an expression of murderous anger as their eyes locked.

"Get up," Lucius snarled. "GET. UP."

Bracing himself against the wall, Harry tried to stand but began to waver on shaky legs. He felt hands painfully grip his arm and yank him to his feet. Harry leaned back against the wall for support and faced the towering figure before him.

"I'm sorry…about Draco," Harry wheezed. "We were…never friends, but – _GHKK_!"

Harry was silenced by a hand around his throat. Lucius's cold, gray eyes were narrowed in deadly concentration. Harry grabbed the hand that was choking him and tried to pry it away with what little strength he had left, but it was no use. The grip only tightened, and blackness began to creep in from the corners of Harry's eyes. His legs went limp, and he felt a second hand join the first around his neck, pinning him to the wall.

Harry knew this was the end. Would his piece of Voldemort's soul still be destroyed? Dumbledore hadn't thought it would work this way…but there was no escape. Harry felt himself slipping away, felt his head begin to go numb and his eyes flicker closed. Would he ever know what became of his friends? Maybe he was only moments away from seeing them again…moments away from seeing his parents, and Sirius, and Dumbledore….

Suddenly, a thought exploded into Harry's mind – one last desperate idea – but was it too late? Riding a small wave of fresh adrenaline, Harry willed his eyes back open, grasped Lucius's hands with both of his own, and pushed against them with every iota of life he had left. The chokehold lessened only slightly, but Harry was able to force the remaining air in his lungs up into a whisper.

"You…can…see…Draco…."

Lucius fought to regain his full grip. His eyes were crazed; sweat beaded down his reddened face.

"Talk…to…him…" Harry continued. "Dumbledore's…secret…."

And the last of Harry's strength was gone. His arms fell to his sides and a loud rushing noise began to fill his ears. This was it….

But then the killing hands were gone, leaving Harry's throat bruised but bare. Harry brought his own hands to his neck and bent over, making a loud rasping sound as he struggled to suck air through his damaged windpipe. Lucius grabbed Harry's shoulders, pushed him back against the wall, and held him there.

"What nonsense are you spouting, Potter? What 'secret?' What about my son?" Lucius spat. With pain and effort, Harry answered in a damaged, gargled voice.

"D-Dumbledore…left me a stone…the Resurrection Stone…I used it to talk to my parents…you could use it to reach Draco. You can't…bring him back…but you could talk to him…say goodbye…."

The exertion of talking gave Harry a fit of coughs. Lucius released his hold on him, his face an unreadable blank mask. "You're lying," he said coldly. "You'd say anything right now to save your pathetic life."

"If Voldemort found me dead…by any hand but his," Harry stammered, "what would you say to save _your_ life? Or your _wife's_?" Harry knew he was grasping at straws, but his tease about the stone had given him an opening and he had to make the most of it. He just hoped that Lucius had cooled down enough to think things through rationally.

"I left the Resurrection Stone…in the forest," he continued, "near the clearing where I was caught. You could find it with…a simple summoning charm."

Lucius let out a mirthless laugh. "A simple summoning charm," he repeated. "Boy, because of you, I am no longer allowed a _wand_. I am hardly a Death Eater…more like a dog. My sole job is now to babysit you in this dungeon, to keep you fed. I am not allowed to see anyone…not even my wife. I had to make an Unbreakable Vow to the Dark Lord that I would tell no one of this place, or of you. The Death Eaters that you saw in the forest – he modified their memories so that they remember seeing you die. I am alone, now. Totally alone." Lucius's face hardened. "Death would be little worse…if I died knowing that I had my revenge."

"Then have it," Harry said, his voice still weak, but steady. "Take revenge on the bastard who _really_ did all of this to you, the one who killed Draco. You've thrown in with the wrong side, you must see that now. Help me…bring me the stone…and you can see your son again. You could see him within the hour if you get the stone _now_."

Lucius responded in a warning tone. "Don't question my loyalties, Potter. The Dark Lord's punishments are…severe, but his path is the right way."

Despite the reprimand, Harry could see the conflict on Lucius's face. This was the moment of truth. Harry's heart raced as neither man spoke for several moments. Finally, Harry broke the silence.

"Look, either the stone is there or it isn't – what would it hurt for you to check? I'm not going anywhere; you can always strangle me later. But if I'm right…."

Harry left it at that; he'd made the case as best he could.

Lucius surveyed Harry for a moment more before saying, "Enough of this fantasy. You can't…you can't talk to the dead. I'm leaving here with whatever honor I still have left, and you…you can rot in here until my Lord is done with you."

At that, Lucius turned and strode out of the Chamber. Harry had to resist the urge to call after him, and trust that Lucius wouldn't be able to forget their conversation. Even if it took time, both of them were stuck there, and for the first time since he was captured, Harry had direction – he had a plan and a goal. With the stone, Dumbledore, his parents, and others could help him figure a way out of this mess. And maybe, he desperately hoped, tell him what had happened to the others after the battle.

This little spark of hope had spun Harry's foggy mind back up to full speed, but his body had never been in worse shape. He painfully slid against the wall down to the floor, where he spotted the spilled food and water. A primal craving took over, and he unashamedly crawled over to the mess, bringing fingers full of cold mashed potatoes to his mouth and lapping up water from puddles on the floor. His broken teeth ached, and every gulp down his sore throat was a struggle.

But he _had_ to survive now; he had a reason to.

- - - - - - -

Harry awoke after finally having gotten some sleep – or rather, after blacking out. As he became conscious, Harry was alarmed by the signals his body was sending him. His side, where he suspected he had cracked or broken ribs, felt like it was burning. Opening his robes and pulling up his shirt to inspect further, Harry gasped at the ugly yellow and purple bruises that spotted across his torso. The pain in his jaw was excruciating, and there wasn't a part of him that didn't ache at the very least.

It helped a little, however, that he had finally eaten. Harry had managed to recover most of his spilled meal, and although he was still very hungry, he could feel that a small amount of strength had returned. Rest had also made an improvement.

As he moved to push himself off the floor, Harry was startled to see the blurry form of Lucius Malfoy sitting against a wall several feet away, facing him. Harry next spotted a new tray of food sitting on the floor in front of the elder wizard, and Lucius simply said, "Breakfast."

Harry paused, then slowly stood and hobbled over to pick the tray up. Up close, Harry's naked eyes could now see that the Death Eater looked even more haggard than before, with dark circles under his eyes. His head was leaned back against the wall, and his gaze conveyed no particular emotion. Harry took the tray carefully, keeping eye contact with Lucius all the while, then returned to his former spot and sat down. He took another wary glance at Lucius, then gave in to his impulses and began to eat in a frenzy. Lucius didn't move, and casually watched Harry stuff his mouth for several minutes before speaking again.

"What makes you think that I wouldn't hand the stone over to the Dark Lord? Or keep it for myself?"

Harry swallowed a mouthful of eggs and replied, "It's of no use to Voldemort. It wouldn't make him any more powerful, and I can't imagine him having a sentimental chat with any dead loved ones. You'd be trading the stone for your one chance to see Draco, and Voldemort wouldn't care less."

Harry paused to gulp down a drink of water, and continued.

"_You_ won't keep the stone because I would tell Voldemort that you took it and hid it from him. With so many strikes against you already, I don't imagine that would be very pleasant for you."

Harry resumed eating, but at a more normal pace, as Lucius considered what he had said.

"Lord Voldemort is a master Legilimens," Lucius began. "You would not be able to keep any secrets from him."

"Entering my mind is torture for him," said Harry. "He can't poke around in there like he used to; he tried it when I first got here, and it nearly killed him. He won't do it again."

Lucius looked away in thought, and when he didn't question the explanation, Harry sensed that he must have seen Voldemort in his weakened state and had now made the connection.

"But what about you?" Harry continued. "What would stop Voldemort from reading _your_ mind?"

"The Dark Lord has no reason to mistrust me," replied Lucius. "Despite how little he may value my services, as long as you and I remain here and unheard from, I will be below his concern."

"And," he added, "my skill as an Occlumens is not insignificant."

"Well, I guess I'll just have to trust you on that," Harry shrugged.

"Why do _you_ want the stone?" asked Lucius. "How do you plan to use it?"

Harry measured his answer carefully. "I'm stuck here, alone…passing the time until Voldemort decides to kill me. I just want…company. I want to see my parents." Harry felt his emotions stir and allowed them into his voice, hoping that the image of a frightened little boy might dampen any concerns that his plans could include other, less innocent, uses of the stone. "You'll see, with Draco – when you call someone back, they're not much more than a ghost. They can't really interact with anything…and nobody can see them but you."

Lucius and Harry silently considered each other. All the cards had been put on the table. Either Harry's words had convinced the man, or….

Lucius put a hand inside his robes, pulled out a tiny object, and tossed it to Harry. Catching it, Harry immediately recognized the cracked black gem. His jaw agape, he turned his astonished gaze back to the man sitting against the wall, who leaned toward him in hungry anticipation.

"Make it work, Potter…show me my son."

Harry gulped and nodded. He looked at the Resurrection Stone with wide eyes and his heart began to hammer with anticipation. There, in the palm of his hand, was the key to answering the questions that had tormented him since he first awoke in the Chamber of Secrets….

"Potter!"

Harry started at the sudden realization that Lucius was now standing over him expectantly, looking agitated. Harry took a deep breath and pushed aside his consuming need to call forth his own names from the stone. He stood and grasped Lucius's hand, pulling it up to place the stone in his upturned palm.

"Just turn the stone over three times," Harry said. Lucius hesitated for a moment, staring into his hand as Harry took a few steps back. Finally, he used the gem as instructed, and with his eyes squeezed shut, desperately whispered his son's name with a shuddering breath.

No sound or other disruption signaled any change, and for a fleeting moment, Harry feared that Lucius would accuse him of trickery. But just as the elder Malfoy opened his eyes, the pale, shimmering, semisolid image of his late son appeared before him.

"Aaah!" Lucius gasped, falling to his knees with his shocked eyes locked on Draco. "My son…_my son_!"

Draco's face remained impassive, his hands resting in his pants pockets through his open robes. "Father," he drawled.

Lucius stood and reached for his son, but found that his translucent form – while substantial enough to touch – was not sufficiently solid to gather in an embrace. Lucius stepped back, tears beginning to escape his heartbroken gaze.

"I wish I could join in this tearful reunion," Draco spoke in a deadpan voice, "but I was never allowed to cry."

"Draco…." whispered Harry, who also stood transfixed at the vision before him. "Why am I able to see you when it was your father who –"

"Because I _wish_ for you to see me, Potter," responded Draco in an exasperated tone, as if explaining the obvious. "I have…things…that I need to say to you."

There was a pause as the longtime rivals assessed each other, before Lucius broke the silence.

"Draco…son…how – how are you? Are you in pain? What…what is it like? Where –"

Draco sighed and shook his head. He looked away at nothing in particular and began to walk as he spoke.

"Such _emotion_, father – I never would have thought you capable of such a display. Where was this tender affection when I was still alive? Where was the caring, distraught father when I was ordered to kill Dumbledore under threat of death? Where was your concern while the Dark Lord amused himself by tormenting me in our own house?"

"Draco," uttered Lucius, clearly taken aback. "I tried…you _know_ I tried to protect you and your mother, but…but he," Lucius pointed a shaking finger at Harry, "_he_ set us back at every turn; _his_ meddlesome acts pit our Lord against us –"

"Don't blame _him_ for _your_ failures," warned Draco in an icy voice. He stopped moving and his eyes shot back to his father with a penetrating gaze. "As futile as it was for Potter to resist the Dark Lord, at least he stood by those he was meant to be loyal to, while you sold out your family – sold your _soul_ – time and time again. And what did it get you? In the end, you've met the same fate as Potter: cast off from the world with no future, no hope, not even a wand."

The cold words seemed to sink into Lucius like daggers. It was a few moments before he could speak again, but as he opened his mouth, his son's voice cut him off, louder and sharper than before.

"I spent my entire life trying to live up to you, trying to walk in your footsteps. I never once questioned you, never once imagined that you could ever be wrong. The Malfoys were a strong, proud family line; we could have done anything…_I_ could have done anything…but you threw it all away. Well, I'm finally out of your shadow, and free of that damned house and all those mental friends of yours. I'm seeing things clearly for the first time."

Draco stood face-to-face with his father. "My death – and our family's downfall – rests on _your_ shoulders, father…" Draco jabbed his finger into Lucius's chest. "Never forget that."

The weight of his son's damning words left Lucius speechless, his stunned eyes showing a mix of outrage and misery. Draco turned to Harry, who had silently watched the exchange, and surveyed him carefully. Harry broke the silence.

"Draco, I'm…I'm sorry. You shouldn't have had to –"

"Potter," Draco interrupted, "what I wanted to say to you is that – as naïve and foolish as you have unquestionably been – you weren't always…wrong…about everything." Draco winced at his own words, then turned a deep breath into a long sigh. "I can see things differently from…where I am now. While the two of us could never have been friends, maybe…maybe we didn't have to be enemies." Draco's voice made it sound more like a question than a statement, and Harry understood that both of them found it difficult to imagine feeling anything for each other but deepest loathing.

The school rivals continued to stare at one another as several awkward moments passed, until – finally breaking eye contact and looking away – Draco continued.

"I wonder…of the two of us, who won in the end? Was dying a quick death better or worse than continuing on in this prison with only the Dark Lord's visits to look forward to?"

"I'll never stop fighting," Harry replied automatically.

"I know," said Draco, shaking his head pityingly. "You never could admit when you were outmatched. It's your most idiotic – and best – quality."

Harry couldn't hold back a small grin. Draco was right – they weren't friends, but they had reached a kind of understanding, a willingness to let go of the hostility that had burned between them for so many years. Harry nodded his agreement at this unsaid sentiment, and Draco nodded back.

Turning back to his father, Draco's eyes narrowed.

"Before I go, I have two things to ask of you. If you truly regret how things turned out…if you cared for me at all…I will give you a chance to prove it."

Lucius looked upon his son with an unreadable expression. Harry could sense that, even in grief, the proud Death Eater could only tolerate so much open hostility and disrespect.

"What do you ask?" Lucius said calmly, standing a little straighter.

"First," Draco began, "do whatever it takes to keep Mother safe. She's suffered enough because of your mistakes; you can't allow any more harm to come to her. If that means you have to sit here playing babysitter until you die, then that's what you do."

There was a pause, and then Lucius gave a small nod.

"And second," Draco sighed, "take care of Potter."

Lucius blinked. "What?"

"Potter," Draco continued. "Don't let him die, or starve, or sit around looking like he was just clubbed by a troll." He gestured toward Harry's very rough appearance. "If he wants to keep fighting – no matter how pointless it will likely be – help him keep going. He saved my life during the battle at Hogwarts, and I can't rest knowing that I owe bloody _Harry Potter_ a life debt. So, you will pay it off for me."

Lucius appeared thoroughly unconvinced, but let his son continue.

"Do these things and you will prove to me that I was more to you than just my last name. And," he added, his voice softer but just as serious, "the next time we meet…I will accept you as my father."

Lucius considered Draco with his brow furrowed, and it appeared that he was focusing heavily on controlling his emotions, on not reprimanding his son for such disrespectful and hurtful words. Finally the lines in his face relaxed, and he gave in.

"I'll do it," Lucius conceded, "because no matter what you may think of me, no matter how I might have…might have failed you, you are my _son_, and…I love you, Draco. If this is what you want, if this is all that I can give you…then I will do what you ask."

"Thank…you," Draco replied a bit unsteadily. It seemed to Harry that Draco had been somewhat surprised and touched by his father's response.

Gathering himself, Draco made to leave. "Well…this is goodbye, then…for now."

"Draco," Harry called, "you may have started down the wrong path…but you were your own man in the end. You wouldn't kill me in the Room of Requirement, and you couldn't kill Dumbledore. You're no Death Eater. You never were. You're better than that."

"Oh, now I can die happy," said Draco, with heavy sarcasm. "Harry Potter _likes_ me."

As Draco faded from view, Harry could swear that he saw a corner of the Slytherin's mouth curl. And then he was gone.

A heavy silence was left upon the room in which its two remaining inhabitants worked through their own thoughts. Lucius dropped the stone, put his face in both hands and rubbed away the emotions that had spilled over. Gathering himself, he took a deep breath and made to leave. As the far wall was splitting in two to reveal the exit, he looked back to Harry and spoke in a drained, emotionless voice.

"I will bring potions with your next meal to help with your wounds. Never speak of what happened here…not even to me."

And with that, Harry was once again left alone in the Chamber.

Harry's eyes lingered on the resealed exit for a second, then moved to the black stone that lay only a few feet from him. The desperation and panic that had gripped him when he first held the stone came rushing back, but he found himself unable to move his feet. This was it – he would learn the fates of everyone he had ever cared about. He wasn't prepared to find out that any of them hadn't made it…but he had to know.

His legs felt weak as he willed them slowly forward. He reached the stone, dropped to his knees, and collected it with shaking hands. He turned it over three times then clasped it tightly within his hands and brought it to his forehead, shutting his eyes tight. Praying with all his heart that his call would not be answered, he spoke the name.

"Ginny."

Harry opened his eyes.

Nothing.

He choked out a sob in relief. Bracing himself, he tried the next name.

"Ron."

Nothing.

"Hermione."

Nothing.

Harry went through the list of everyone that he knew had survived the battle to the point when he left to face Voldemort, and to his surprise and immeasurable relief, not a single face appeared before him. Even Hagrid, who Harry had left in the capture of Voldemort and his Death Eaters, had somehow miraculously avoided death. Harry fell back onto the floor, alternatively laughing and crying between stuttering breaths, letting the terror that had consumed him for days lift away.

* * * * * * * *

Having finished lunch long ago, Harry finally shook himself back to the present. As the memories of how he came to obtain the Resurrection Stone echoed in his mind, he looked down at the black stone resting in his hand. It was past time to begin the magical portion of his daily training, and while neither Harry nor his former headmaster had any other pressing appointments, he hadn't meant to keep Dumbledore waiting. After patting a bit of dust off his robes, standing up nice and straight, and making a half-hearted attempt to flatten his unruly hair, Harry turned the stone three times.

"Harry! What kept you?"

Dumbledore rushed forth from nothingness with an urgent tone in his voice, his piercing blue eyes staring at Harry intensely.

"Um…sorry, Professor," Harry stammered. "I guess I kind of lost track of –"

"They are coming," Dumbledore interrupted. "Members of the Order of the Phoenix will attempt to raid Hogwarts. Mr. Weasley witnessed his brothers discussing the plan at the Burrow. Bill Weasley means to break through the wards, and it looks as if – despite the hard work of many talented witches and wizards, myself included – there is a strong possibility that he will succeed." Dumbledore gave Harry a meaningful look over his half-moon spectacles. "Harry…this could be your chance."

Harry stared at Dumbledore, unable to speak or even think. He had dreamed of this – _trained_ for this – but if he was honest, he had never truly believed this kind of opportunity would present itself.

"When?" Harry asked, blinking away his shocked expression.

"The day after tomorrow," smiled Dumbledore.

A sudden strength began to surge through Harry, tingling his fingers and toes. He nodded as his face took on a determined, resolute expression.

"I'll be ready."

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Next:

On the day before members of the Order of the Phoenix embark upon their dangerous mission at Hogwarts, Hermione returns to the Burrow after a yearlong absence from the magical world. Confronted with painful reunions and haunted by memories of the horrific events that drove her away, can she find the strength to face her demons at long last?

Coming soon, the second chapter of _The World I Leave Behind_, "Three Steps."

"Ron, stop her!"

"I don't think I can do this anymore."

"NOT WITHOUT HARRY!"

"Was there…did they ever…Ginny and H-Harry…."

"This isn't the end, Hermione. It…it just can't be."

"He died alone."


	3. Chapter Two: Three Steps

**The World I Leave Behind**  
Chapter Two: Three Steps

A soft pop accompanied Hermione's arrival at the Burrow.

The ramshackle house hadn't changed a bit in the year since her last visit, with its six impossibly crooked stories towering before the rolling green hills of the surrounding countryside. It was a picturesque July day with a bright blue sky and a warm summer breeze, but Hermione felt a cold chill inside. Being here brought back a rush of terrible memories, and she had a sudden irrational urge to Apparate away.

She breathed a small sigh of relief, however, upon noticing that no one else was in sight. Hermione had waited until just before the scheduled meeting time to arrive, in the hopes that she could put off what were sure to be awkward reunions.

Her decidedly Muggle appearance reflected the time she'd spent outside the wizarding world: she wore faded jeans and a violet t-shirt. She had put a lot of effort into tying back her long bushy brown hair as neatly as possible, to look her best for…well, she had supposed it couldn't hurt.

Hermione took a few tentative steps toward the house, pulling a small rolling suitcase behind her, and felt the hum of many protective wards and charms as she passed through them. A part of her was a little surprised that she was still allowed through after having been gone for so long. She knew that a large number of powerful new spells, including a Fidelius charm, had been used to re-secure the Burrow so it could serve as one of several safe houses for the Order of the Phoenix and other small groups of resistance fighters. She felt a pang of guilt that the house of the family she had abandoned still welcomed her so easily.

A minute passed before Hermione realized that she had stood staring at the house with unfocused eyes. A horrible grief-stricken scream flashed inside her head, followed by the horrifying scene of a mangled, mutilated body. She sat on a large tree stump and tried to catch her panicked breath. She could do this…she _had_ to do this….

Just then, she heard the creak and bang of the front door opening and closing. Looking up, she saw Mr. Weasley walking toward her. Hermione closed her eyes and willed her breathing back to normal as he approached.

"Hermione, it's so good to see you again," he said with a warm smile. Hermione stood to greet him, and he met her with a quick hug.

"You too, Mr. Weasley."

"Arthur, please," he requested. "You've made it just in time; Bill's about to start. Everyone's in the sitting room. Allow me to help you inside," he said, grabbing the handle of her suitcase. It rolled forward a few inches as he moved to lift it, and his eyes shot to the wheels at its base. "Brilliant," he whispered to himself in amazement.

But then his eyes flicked back to Hermione who remained still as she looked at the ground and fidgeted with her hands. His smile fell into a look of sympathy.

"Are you all right? I…. Well, I can't imagine that coming here was easy for you."

With her eyes still fixed on the grass, Hermione gave a polite smile and brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "It's okay. I'm…I'm fine," she replied. A single tear escaped, and she faked a smile as she turned her head to wipe it away.

"Hermione, listen," Mr. Weasley began, placing his hands gently on her shoulders and slouching to look her in the eye. "It took a lot of courage for you to come back here, and I don't doubt for a second that you'll make it through okay. You're a very strong witch; you always have been. And I'll stick right beside you in there, okay?"

Hermione finally met his concerned gaze and gave a small nod. "Thank you, Mr. Weasley."

"Arthur," he repeated, smiling again. He walked beside her across the yard with a comforting hand on her shoulder, pulling her suitcase behind him. Hermione stopped just short of the house and looked down at the steps that led to the front door.

"_Just three steps_," she thought. Closing her eyes, Hermione took a long, deep breath, exhaled, and walked up into the house.

* * * * * * *

The sitting room was packed with so many people that Hermione had to stand at the back of the crowd, barely inside the doorway. She didn't recognize anyone directly in front of her, but could just barely make out the red hair and scarred face of Bill Weasley in the distance, apparently standing on something to address everyone. With a quick wave from his father, Bill spoke in a loud, commanding voice.

"Right then, now that we're all here, let's get started." The murmuring crowd hushed immediately and all heads turned toward Bill.

"As all of you know, tomorrow is the big day. After a lot of planning and hard work by everyone in this room, we're finally ready – we're going back to Hogwarts." Applause signaled the crowd's support and enthusiasm for the operation.

"While only a few of you will be going to the school with me, all of you will have a role to play once we do this. Those of you keeping an ear out at the Ministry and the Daily Prophet will need to let us know immediately if you learn that any part of our operation has been compromised. The Death Eaters may retaliate immediately, so the managers of each safe house must have every possible protection in place, and have your people ready to Portkey to the predetermined rendezvous point if it comes to that." Bill paused to look around the room, and when no one seemed to have anything to add or ask, he proceeded.

"In just a few minutes I'll meet individually with several of you to discuss, in detail, your part in the plan, but first I'd like to walk through the general overview one more time. Our primary objective is to retrieve the Sorting Hat, which is presumably still in the Headmaster's office. As we have learned," Bill gave a quick nod to someone Hermione could not see, "Voldemort's snake, Nagini, is a Horcrux and must be destroyed before we can ever kill the evil bastard himself." Hermione knew that the Burrow's many protections cancelled out the taboo that had been placed on the Dark Lord's name, but she was still impressed that he used it; she hadn't been able to for a long time. "The only weapon we know of that will do the job for sure is the Sword of Gryffindor, which was last seen in the possession of a goblin named Griphook. And since the slippery little bugger seems to have dropped off the face of the earth, the Sorting Hat is our only other shot at getting the sword."

"As we've discussed," Bill continued, "Harry Potter once pulled the sword out the hat. We believe that the hat is able to conjure the sword from wherever it may be." Hermione desperately hoped this was true since she was the one that had worked up the theory. "So above all else," Bill went on, "we get the hat and get out of there."

"Objective number two," said Bill, holding up two fingers. "While we're in Dumbledore's old office getting the hat, we'll also grab his portrait. We don't know what it might be able to tell us, but let's face it – we'll take just about any advice or pointers we can get right now. If we're extremely lucky, the portrait might tell us some new information on Voldemort that could help us bring him down. Dumbledore died suddenly, and may not have passed on everything he knew."

"And finally," Bill continued, "We try to bring our friend Minerva McGonagall home. Having her back would be a huge plus for our side; not only is she a powerful witch, but she should also be able to tell us about everything the Death Eaters have been up to at Hogwarts. We can only hope that she's okay; all we know is that upon her capture, the Death Eaters took her back to the school. George," Bill called, looking again at a part of the room Hermione could not see, "this is your department. Once we're on site, you'll try to find her on the Marauder's Map. If you can't spot her, or if she's too difficult to reach, we'll have to leave without her. Remember, I can only keep the wards open for about fifteen minutes – after that, you won't be able to Apparate out. And escaping on foot isn't an option, since the Death Eaters added new wards to keep the students locked inside the grounds. Above all else, I want everyone back here safe and sound. Now, any questions before we break out?"

"Yeah – tell us again why we don't bust the whole lot of 'em out: McGonagall, the students, everybody."

Hermione's heart stopped upon hearing the unseen questioner's voice.

"Ron, we've been over this," replied Bill in a slightly exasperated tone. "As much as we might hate it, the students are safer inside Hogwarts, for now. Outside, they'd be on the run from snatchers or worse."

"They're prisoners, Bill!" countered Ron, his voice rising. "They keep them there year-round now, teaching 'em to hate Muggles, learn dark magic, and be good little Death Eaters!"

"What would you have us do, Ron?" asked Bill. "Even if we had a way to keep the kids safe, we don't have the manpower for an operation that big, and we couldn't get them all out in the time we'll have." A moment passed with no further response from Ron. "We'll get them," assured Bill, "when the time is right. I promise."

Bill turned his attention back to the room. "Okay then, just one last piece of business before we break out into individual meetings. Cho Chang is no longer able to serve as our lookout on this mission, as she is still recovering from her run-in with the Death Eaters. Therefore, Hermione Granger has agreed to fill in for her. Hermione, are you here?"

Hermione froze for a moment, but upon feeling Mr. Weasley's supportive hand squeeze her shoulder, she raised her arm above the mass of people in front of her.

"Ah, there you are," said Bill. "Could you come forward so I can see you? Everybody please make a path to let her through."

Hermione went numb. She walked, as if in a trance, through the crowd, which parted as she moved along. She kept her eyes locked solely on Bill, and fought hard to resist the urge to glance in the direction that Ron's voice had come from. She could sense all eyes – _his_ eyes – on her, and the room suddenly felt very hot. Once she reached Bill – whom she could now see stood on a large wooden box – he continued speaking.

"Hermione will Apparate to the top of the Astronomy Tower, which should give her the perfect vantage point to keep an eye on the grounds for us. If she sees any Death Eater activity, she'll use a Patronus to let us know immediately." Bill turned to speak directly to Hermione. "You should be out of harm's way up there, far away from where the action will be. But keep your wits about you, and be ready to get the hell out of there when the time comes." Hermione nodded.

"Okay then," said Bill, speaking once again to everyone in the room. "Let's break up and lock down the details. Charlie, Ron, dad, and Kingsley, if I could see you over here first."

The crowd began to chatter and spread out of the sitting room and into the rest of the ground floor. Hermione stood rooted to the spot, not sure which direction to turn, when she was pulled into a bone-crushing hug.

"Hermione, dear, it's so good to see you!" gushed Mrs. Weasley. "It's been way too long!" The Weasley matriarch released Hermione and held her at arm's length, scrutinizing her – Hermione was sure that Mrs. Weasley was checking that she looked well fed, or perhaps, trying to discern if she was still sane.

"Hello, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione replied, smiling despite her nerves. I'm…I'm sorry that it's been so long since I've come around."

"Molly, Bill won't need Hermione for a little while yet," interrupted Mr. Weasley, who had just walked up to them. "Why don't you help her settle in?" He gave his wife a meaningful look that made Hermione feel terribly guilty; she didn't think that she deserved to be welcomed back so enthusiastically and treated with such care.

"Of course," replied Mrs. Weasley, who then said to Hermione, "I'll just put this in your room," as she sent Hermione's suitcase flying around the corner with a wave of her wand. "Come along, dear; we'll start with getting you a bite to eat. You've travelled a long way and you're looking a bit peaky."

"Thanks," said Hermione. She wasn't at all hungry, but the kitchen seemed as good a place as any to escape to; she was feeling overwhelmed at being surrounded by so many people.

With a nod and a smile, Mr. Weasley left them to join Bill. Hermione's eyes followed him until he reached the others that Bill had called to him: Kingsley, Charlie, and….

And there he was. Hermione's breath caught as she locked eyes with Ron from across the room. His face betrayed no emotion, but he held Hermione's gaze with an intense stare of his own until Bill called him back to their discussion.

"Come along, dear," said Mrs. Weasley, snapping Hermione back to reality. Steering Hermione away with a hand on her back, Mrs. Weasley began to chatter with small talk, of which Hermione only heard "How are your parents?" as the image of a tall, red-haired, blue-eyed boy continued to blaze inside her mind.

Once in the kitchen, Hermione saw that a large meal was already underway: the contents of various pots bubbled on the stove, bewitched knives chopped away at vegetables, and a delicious smell filled the air.

"Have a seat, dear," said Mrs. Weasley as she effortlessly pulled a chair out from the table with her wand. "I'll just check the stew to see how it's coming along."

"Thank you," said Hermione as she sat down. As Mrs. Weasley scuttled around her kitchen, peeking under pot lids and peering into the oven, Hermione looked around and took in the room that she most associated with her visits to the Burrow. Her gaze fell upon the entranceway closest to the stairs, and for a brief moment she saw herself in a chair there, sitting in shock and silence, her face very pale. She shook the image out of her head and, as she had practiced so often, quickly moved to find a distraction.

"Can I help, Mrs. Weasley?"

"Thank you dear, but everything is well in hand, and I've already asked Ginny to come set up the table – oh, and there she is now."

Hermione turned back to the doorway she had stared at just a moment ago and found herself looking into the brown eyes of Mrs. Weasley's only daughter. Ginny's flaming red hair now fell to her lower back, and she was dressed in worn-out jeans and a form-fitting olive green t-shirt with black, splotchy runes across its front that Hermione could translate as "The Weird Sisters." Ginny seemed a little thinner and paler than Hermione remembered.

Suddenly, Hermione saw Ginny fighting to break free of her mother's arms as she, along with the rest of the Weasleys and the last of those evacuating Hogwarts, poured into the portrait hole within the Room of Requirement….

- - - - - - -

"NO!" Ginny screamed. "NOT WITHOUT HARRY! LET ME _GO_!" Mr. Weasley joined his wife and, together, they forcibly lifted their daughter – kicking and screaming – and carried her toward the exit.

"There's no time, Ginny!" Mr. Weasley shouted. "The Death Eaters will be here in seconds!"

"We can hold 'em off, dad," countered Ron, who – despite his pale face and obvious terror – seemed ready to revolt as well. He had stopped following everyone upon entering the room and stood torn between seeing his family to safety and bolting to search for his best friend. "If we can hold 'em back for just a few minutes, it might give Harry a chance to –"

"I hate this as much as you do, Ron," said Bill, who was shepherding others through the portrait hole and into the tunnel beyond. "But we've already looked for Harry, and we have no idea where he is." Bill stared across the room at his youngest brother and voiced what everyone knew to be true. "If we stay, we're dead."

Ron paused, and then gave a slow nod. Bill turned and entered the tunnel, leaving only Ron, Ginny, their parents, and Hermione in the room. With a shriek, Ginny finally jerked free and ran for the door that led back to the halls of Hogwarts.

"RON, STOP HER!" shouted Mr. Weasley. Ron, who was the last person Ginny had to pass to escape, caught her in both arms and held her tight as she screamed in protest. Just then, a teeth-rattling boom came from the wall that concealed the room's magical entrance. The wall shuddered and cracked under the power of some unseen attack.

Ron's attention was brought back to Ginny, who looked directly into his eyes and spoke to him imploringly. "If we go now," she said, her eyes wide and terrified, "we might never see him again."

_BOOM!_ The room shook again as dust and debris rained down on them.

"RON, GINNY – _NOW!_"

Mr. Weasley's cry snapped Ron back to attention. Wavering, he looked to Hermione, who stood in the middle of the room between escape and the man she cared so deeply for. Her heart was at war with her mind – while it went against her every instinct to abandon Harry, she knew they had no choice but to flee. "Ron," she said, her voice cracking, "we have to go."

_BOOM!_

"There – I think I see some of 'em," came an eager, bloodthirsty voice.

A chunk of the wall had fallen in, and Hermione could see several masked faces maneuvering to look through the hole.

"DAMN IT!" yelled Ron, who lifted his sister and ran for the portrait hole. Hermione followed Mr. and Mrs. Weasley into the tunnel where they stood just inside, waving Ron and Ginny to them.

"_NOOOOO!_" cried Ginny as Ron carried her across the room as fast as he could muster, green and red spells flying past them from behind. At last Ron reached his parents, who took Ginny from him before he leapt into the tunnel and sealed the portrait behind him.

* * * * * * *

"Oh…hi, Hermione." Ginny spoke casually, as if it had only been days, not months, since their last meeting. She flashed a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, then moved into the kitchen and set her sights on a stack of plates and silverware.

"Ginny, h-hi," Hermione stuttered, her nerves getting the best of her. She found herself at a complete loss for what to say. As Ginny turned her full attention to setting the table, Hermione's mind desperately grasped at several trite greetings that she quickly dismissed before voicing. Something like "How have you been?" seemed woefully inadequate, and shameful, considering that she hadn't checked on Ginny's well being once in over a year.

Just as the silence started to become very awkward, Mrs. Weasley spoke up. "Here, dear," she said, placing a glass of lemonade on the table in front of Hermione. "I'll whip you up a quick bite to eat once the bread is done baking."

"Thanks," Hermione said, and she immediately took a long drink, relieved to have something to do at the moment.

"Here's one for you too, Ginny," said Mrs. Weasley, sitting a second glass on the table across from Hermione. "Once the table is ready, you can take a break. I can handle the rest," she said, smiling at her daughter and peeking at Hermione before looking inside the oven.

After setting the final place at the table, Ginny took her seat, brushed several long strands of hair out of her face, and took a drink.

"I didn't notice you arrive," Ginny said plainly, looking down at the table as she sat her glass back on it.

"Oh, well, I ran late," Hermione replied. "I almost didn't make it in time."

Ginny glanced at Hermione and nodded before taking another long drink, which Hermione mirrored. Hermione's head was swimming – she had feared that Ron and Ginny would hate her, that they would scream at her for abandoning them and kick her out of their house. And sometimes, she had allowed herself to dream of a happy reunion, of being welcomed back with open arms and forgiveness. But she had never anticipated this…polite indifference. To be treated as some causal acquaintance, with no recognition that they had meant so much more to each other.

As the seconds crawled by, Hermione felt a panicked need to fill the silence with something, anything….

"How is Ron?"

Hermione cringed as soon as the words left her mouth. What was she _thinking_? Of all the things to just blurt out….

Ginny paused in mid-sip and briefly stared at Hermione before swallowing and returning her now empty glass to the table.

"_Busy_," replied Ginny, for the first time sounding somewhat less than cordial. She scooted back from the table and stood up. "Mum, I should go see if anyone needs anything."

"Oh, um, thanks, dear," said Mrs. Weasley, who paused while pulling a tray out of the oven to cast a worried glance between her daughter and Hermione.

"It was nice to see you again, Hermione," said Ginny as she left the room, her voice once again pleasant.

Hermione felt a weight fall into her stomach. This was much worse than screaming and shouting; at least their hurt would have shown they had cared for her. Ginny had made her feel like she was nothing. Hermione suddenly felt more alone than ever, and her eyes began to well up with tears.

"I'll…I'll just be right back," she said, not giving Mrs. Weasley a chance to respond before ducking out the back door as fast as possible. She walked quickly across the yard and didn't stop until she'd turned the corner and slid down the wall of an unseen side of the house. Pulling her knees to her, she placed her face in her hands and began to cry.

More unwelcome images rose within her like bile, and she buried her face into her raised knees and entwined her fingers behind her head protectively as a horrible scene – the memory she had fought hardest to suppress since arriving at the Burrow – played inside her mind….

- - - - - - -

With a crack, Hermione appeared alongside Mr. Weasley just beyond the Burrow's protective wards. Beneath a darkening sky, Hermione stood rigid, clutching his arm tightly with both hands. She was unable to move, unable to even think. She felt as if her mind had frozen. When Mr. Weasley gently removed her hands, Hermione realized she was shaking.

The Weasleys had just moved back into the Burrow that morning. They had spent the two days following the Hogwarts battle at Shell Cottage while Bill and other Order members re-fortified the Burrow's security. Returning to the Burrow had become a priority since – after countless students, Hogsmead villagers, and the entire Order of the Phoenix fought the Death Eaters – there were far too many people on the run to fit into the precious few safe houses left to them.

Coming home was also important because that was where they had decided to lay Fred to rest. Traveling to any outside cemeteries would have been too dangerous, and besides, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley wanted to keep their son close. That afternoon, they had all gathered behind the house, where – beyond the pond and beside the orchard – they buried Fred at a picturesque spot by a line of tall trees. Hermione couldn't help feeling like an intruder as she witnessed the Weasleys shed their masks and succumb fully to their horrible grief. She had found it especially difficult to look at George, whose despondent face she didn't recognize. She focused on Ron, keeping his hand held tight and holding him when he needed her.

Their mourning was made all the worse by the many other losses they were still suffering through. The wizarding world had been thrown into total chaos as the emboldened Death Eaters pressed their advantage after their victory at Hogwarts. Good wizarding families went into hiding or fled the country. The Order of the Phoenix and other anti-Voldemort witches and wizards panicked and scattered.

And worst of all, Harry was still missing. Ron tried his best to convince everyone that Harry would be okay – reminding them that his friend had found his way out of tight spots loads of times – but their worry pressed in upon them more each day. Hermione was most concerned for Ginny, who she hadn't seen eat or sleep since they'd escaped from Hogwarts.

No, they could find no comfort in bidding Fred goodbye, not while their nightmare continued.

Many more people would arrive at the Burrow the next morning, but on this first night back, the house held only Ron, Ginny, George, Percy, and Mrs. Weasley; Charlie had remained behind to help manage the growing crowd staying at Bill and Fleur's.

In just a few moments, Hermione and Mr. Weasley would join the others inside their family home, and their world would change forever. A hand on her back guided Hermione across the yard to the house; she numbly walked along, barely aware that her legs were moving – barely aware of anything – until she reached the steps leading to the front door.

She stopped and stared at them; just three steps and then everyone would know the awful, unspeakable truth. There would be no going back; no denying that it was real. Hermione didn't have the strength for this; she couldn't bear the thought of seeing everyone suffer as she was. She felt an urge to run away, to get as far from the house as possible. She suddenly felt light-headed, and a moment later, she vomited on the spot.

Hermione remained hunched over, sucking in rapid, raspy breaths. As the world came back into focus, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

Hermione slowly looked up into Mr. Weasley's anguished face, his red-rimmed eyes miserable and haunted. He said nothing, but pulled her into a one-arm embrace and squeezed her with his best attempt at comfort. He held her tightly to him as they took the steps together. He pushed open the door and they slowly walked inside.

Their footsteps must have given them away, because as they entered the kitchen, everyone was sitting eerily still at the table, their dinner half-eaten, with their faces all turned toward the newcomers, guarding themselves in anticipation of yet more bad news. Earlier they had all been busy with other tasks, leaving Hermione and Mr. Weasley to visit a few places to learn all that they could about their missing friends, the Death Eaters' most recent actions, and the quickly changing wizarding world.

Mrs. Weasley stood from the table and faced her husband, wringing her hands nervously in her apron. George and Percy looked expectantly at their father. Hermione saw Ron and Ginny's eyes dart to her, and she looked down at the floor. From the corner of her eye, she noticed that Mr. Weasley also avoided everyone's gaze as he moved an empty chair from the table to the doorway where Hermione stood frozen.

"Here, Hermione. Have a seat."

Her eyes still staring off at nothing, Hermione let Mr. Weasley guide her into the chair. Then, he pulled his usual chair away from the head of the table and slumped into it. With everyone still watching him with bated breath, Mr. Weasley pulled of his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezed shut.

"What is it, father?" asked Percy, his voice little more than a whisper.

Mr. Weasley leaned forward in his chair, rested his elbows on his knees, and rubbed his hands over his face.

"_Who_ is it?" asked George, his face blank.

Hermione looked back at Ron, who was still staring at her, waiting for her to give some sign, some confirmation that the worst had happened. Ron must have seen something in Hermione's pale face, because his eyes widened and he began to slowly shake his head.

Looking down at his clasped hands, Mr. Weasley's choked voice finally answered. "H-Harry…."

"Don't," said Ginny, who had shot to her feet. Her face was white, and her eyes were wide with terror.

Her father sat up and looked at her, his face scrunched up in sorrow. "I'm sorry, pumpkin," he said, as tears began to streak down his cheeks. "He's…he's gone. Harry's gone."

Time seemed to stand still as his words cut through the room.

"What…what do you mean 'he's gone?'" asked Ron, who spoke to his father but kept his eyes locked on Hermione. "How…how do you…what are you saying?" Hermione held Ron's gaze, but her face remained unreadable.

"He's gone, Ron," was the only reply his father could muster. Mr. Weasley shifted in his seat and blinked his eyes clear. "We found him and we…we brought his body h-home…." He quickly lowered his face back into his hands as his body began to shudder.

There was a loud clatter and Hermione looked over to see Ginny fall as if the string holding her up had been cut, her outstretched arm knocking various dishes to the floor on her way down.

"Ginny!" yelled Mrs. Weasley, who rushed around the table toward her daughter as her sons also came to Ginny's aid. Hermione remained seated in the doorway, concerned for her friend but unable to will her body to move. From across the kitchen, Hermione could still see the terrified look on Ginny's face. The younger girl didn't seem to realize she was on the floor.

"Ginny! _Ginny!_" shouted Percy, who was the first to kneel at his sister's side.

"She's not breathing!" called George, who had joined them.

"Boys, get her up on the table!" commanded Mr. Weasley, who swung his arm across the dinner table, sending more plates of food crashing down to clear a space. Together, Percy, George, and Ron quickly and carefully moved their sister onto the table, where her mother rushed to her side. Hermione could see that Ginny was shaking, and that her eyes were wide and blank.

"Ginny, breathe! _Breathe_, sweetheart!" Mr. Weasley lifted his daughter by her shoulders and moved his face inches from hers, desperately trying to get her vacant eyes to find him. Mrs. Weasley began to sob as she cradled Ginny's head.

Finally, there was a long, raspy intake of air, and Ginny rolled to her side with her eyes squeezed shut. She took several more shuttering breaths as her mother drew her closer, placed her cheek on top of Ginny's head, and wrapped her arms around her. "Oh, Ginny…."

And then a soul-wrenching scream pierced the air as something violently left Ginny forever. Her voice was raw and indecent as she began to wail inconsolably; it was as if the terrible sounds were being torn from her as she writhed on the table. Her mother looked terrified, and held onto Ginny tightly.

"A-Arthur!" cried Mrs. Weasley in desperation, but her husband looked helpless as he repeatedly failed at calming his daughter, whose eyes were shut with her face contorted in absolute misery.

Hermione continued to watch the scene unfold from the kitchen entrance as every awful sight and sound pierced her. Ron, George, and Percy stood stunned and said nothing, occasionally wincing at the frightful sounds filling the room. Ron sat back down, leaned over the table, and buried his face in his arms.

Sometime later – Hermione could not be sure how much time had passed – Mr. and Mrs. Weasley carried Ginny, who had not once stopped crying, up to her room. The sobs and shrieks went on for some time before everything suddenly became quiet. A few moments later, Mr. Weasley came back down the stairs and returned to the kitchen, looking years older.

"We…we finally had to force her to drink a dreamless sleep potion," he said, looking at his sons. "I don't…I don't know what…I've never seen her like that," he stammered.

Ron began to sob, the sounds muffled by his arms as his back shook over the table. Percy leaned against the sink and took a deep breath, rubbing a hand back through his hair. George's face was deadened, with heavy-lidded eyes. Hermione wondered if losing an honorary brother so soon after his twin was more than he could ever recover from.

"AHHH!" yelled Ron, who suddenly kicked back from the table, stood, and turned away from everyone to lean with both hands against the wall. "This can't be happening…it can't…." He lowered his head and his hands clenched into fists. "I abandoned him. I left him at bloody Hogwarts to die."

"Ron," said Mr. Weasley, whose voice had regained some of its strength for the first time. "None of us had a choice, son. It's nobody's –"

Ron broke his father's words with a sudden punch at the wall, which left behind a blood-smeared crack. "I've been telling Ginny for days that it'll be alright," whispered Ron, his head hung low against the wall. "That Harry will come back to us…." Ron took a breath to continue, but could only choke out a sob.

Mr. Weasley moved to place a hand on his youngest son's shoulder. "Ron…."

But Ron quickly moved to the back door, slamming it open so hard that it nearly came off its hinges, and stormed out into the moonlit back yard.

Mr. Weasley followed him as far as the door and stood looking through its window.

After several long minutes, Mrs. Weasley returned, looking as if she was close to collapsing. As she walked closer, Hermione could see that her face was wet and white as a sheet.

"C-could you come with me…into the parlor, Hermione?" she asked.

Hermione did not answer, but after a moment, stood and followed the older woman out of the kitchen. Entering the next room, Mrs. Weasley gestured for Hermione to sit down, then sat in a chair across from her.

"I can't…I can't...." Mrs. Weasley's voice faltered and she raised her hands to rub her face. Sniffling, she continued.

"I can't imagine…what you're feeling right now – what _any_ of you are feeling. I…how do I even…right after F-Fred…."

Mrs. Weasley looked away as her resolve flickered, revealing a face twisted in grief. It was a few moments before she could speak again. Hermione vaguely felt as if she should reach out to the woman, to try to comfort her and take comfort from her…but she could not – and did not want to – break out of the protective numbness that kept her going. Mrs. Weasley rubbed away fresh tears and continued to speak.

"I've never seen Ginny like that…I've never seen _anyone_ like that. They got on well enough…and I know she used to…used to have a bit of a crush on…him. But _that_…. I couldn't get her to…it didn't seem like she even recognized me. When she wakes up, I don't know what I'll…what I'll do."

She leaned closer to Hermione and looked at her with pleading eyes.

"H-Hermione, was there…did they ever…Ginny and H-Harry…."

Hermione blinked.

"You…you didn't know?" she replied in a quiet, emotionless voice that sounded distant, even to her. "Ginny never told you?"

Mrs. Weasley's face dropped and her eyes grew wide, silently waiting for Hermione to confirm what her mother's instincts told her must be true.

"They were together," Hermione continued, swallowing hard. "Near the end of our sixth year. He…Harry stopped it…because he was afraid that Vol –" the name triggered a flash of fear, and Hermione shut her eyes against images of ruined arms and legs. "B-because he was afraid that…You-Know-Who might use her to get to him."

Hermione saw pain in Mrs. Weasley's eyes, and a well of new tears threatening to spill over.

"They really cared about each other; he hated leaving her…he missed her terribly. I really think they would've…that they would have…."

Mrs. Weasley recoiled as if she couldn't bear to hear any more. She hunched over in her seat and buried her face in her hands.

"_Oh no, no, no_…." she whispered, rocking back and forth. "Ginny…oh God, _Ginny_…."

Hermione understood. Ginny wasn't just suffering the loss of a friend, or even a brother, but the man she had dreamed of spending her life with; the man she had waited for while suffering silently in his absence, carrying the weight of her longing and worry on her shoulders alone.

How could her mother possibly help her? How could anyone or anything ever make things right again?

Hermione closed her eyes and saw Ginny in Harry's arms, smiling warmly as he squeezed her tight. And then the scene shifted to a sickeningly mutilated body beneath a face with a lightning-bolt scar, and Hermione heard Ginny's screams echo inside her head.

Eventually, everyone went to their rooms to sleep – or, Hermione was sure, to simply be alone with their thoughts and grief. Only she and Ron remained in the parlor, the latter having returned to the house after spending an hour alone outside. Ron had calmed down and allowed his father – who had waited for his son by the back door the entire time – to hug him, but Ron had hardly spoken since. Hermione had also stayed silent, the lost, distant look still upon her face.

The two surviving members of Hogwarts' infamous trio quietly sat side by side on a sofa, lost in their own thoughts, as the embers of the dying fire glowed red in the near darkness of the room. Time crawled by until Ron finally took in a long, shaky breath and spoke.

"He died alone," Ron said, his vacant eyes staring ahead toward the fire. He spluttered out a sob and wiped his palms over his wet cheeks. Lowering his arms, he fell back into the couch cushions and his face went blank again.

"Harry…Harry had the guts. He was the Chosen One. You were the brains," he added, glancing for a moment at Hermione. "I never knew the right thing to do…I couldn't do what you two could…but I could back you up, share the danger, help keep you both safe. It's all I could offer, and in the end," Ron blinked rapidly and took a steadying breath before he could continue. "In the end…I couldn't even do that right." Ron managed to keep a neutral expression, but didn't fight the new tears that fell.

Hermione turned her head to look at him for a few moments, then looked away again.

"It's over," she said in a small voice. Ron looked at her, somewhat startled that she had said her first words in hours.

"Harry was the only one the Prophecy said could defeat…him." She still found herself without the courage to speak the Dark Lord's name. "It's really…it's really over."

As Ron looked at her, something changed in his eyes. Noticing that Hermione was shivering and rubbing her arms, he pulled an old worn blanket from the top of the sofa's backrest, moved to sit closer to her, and wrapped the blanket around her. Hermione didn't acknowledge him, but grasped the ends of the blanket and pulled it tighter. Ron gently pulled her hair out from inside the blanket to lay it on top, then put an arm around her shoulder and leaned toward the side of her face, trying to catch her eye.

"Don't…don't say that, Hermione. I don't know how…I don't know what to do next…." Ron's brow creased and he shook his head. "But I'm not going to stop fighting. After everything we've gone through… after Harry…and Fred, and Lupin, and Tonks, and Mad Eye, and everybody else…I'll be damned if I just give up. This isn't the end, Hermione. It…it just can't be."

Ron reached out and softly held Hermione's cheek, then turned her head to face him. When her eyes finally found him, they widened and began to quiver. She reached her arms around him – the blanket falling away from her – and buried her face in his shoulder. Ron tentatively reached out and held her.

"I'm so scared," Hermione said against him, so quietly that Ron had barely heard her. "I can't stop shaking, and…and I feel like I can't catch my breath." She felt Ron hold her tighter, but still did not look up. "I don't think I can do this anymore."

Ron sniffled and sunk his face into Hermione's hair. "Shhh, it's okay," he said softly and began to rub her back. "It's okay to be scared. You…you don't have to be strong right now…I can be strong for both of us." He pressed his lips further into her hair and kissed the top of her head. "We'll make it through this, somehow. I won't let anything happen to you, I promise. If something ever…I mean, if you…." Ron looked at the ceiling, willing himself to keep his emotions from bubbling over completely.

"God, Hermione, I…I love you…so much," Ron said, his voice breaking. "This isn't how I ever imagined telling you that, but now Harry's gone and…and you just never know. I've wasted so much time. You mean everything to me, and I just…. I've been a bloody coward for so long. And I've been a prat, an idiot, and everything else you've ever called me; it's all true. But I swear that I'll do whatever it takes to get us through this. Just…just lean on me for now. I promise I won't let you down…I won't let anyone down ever again."

Ron continued rubbing Hermione's back and brought his other hand up to hold her head tenderly against his shoulder. Hermione did not speak, but held closely to him as they sat in the eerily quiet room with the last few sparks of fire and the ticking of the clock. At long last, Hermione's tears fell. She moved her head from Ron's shoulder and buried her face into his chest, dampening his shirt. Ron held her close as he leaned back against the cushions, and they silently held each other into the night.

When Ron awoke on the couch the next morning, he was alone.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Next:

With time ticking away before a dangerous mission, Hermione takes what could be her last chance to talk to Ron and Ginny and make things right – but will they listen to what she has to say?

Coming soon, the third chapter of _The World I Leave Behind_, "Splintered."

"I'm rubbish at small talk, so I'll get right to it."

"He never got to say that, so you don't get to, either."

"Try harder."

"I WOULD'VE GIVEN _ANYTHING_ FOR WHAT YOU HAD, FOR WHAT YOU JUST THREW AWAY!"

"I…I never read them."

"But you're the bravest witch I've ever known!"

"Hello, Ron."


	4. Chapter Three: Splintered

**The World I Leave Behind**  
Chapter Three: Splintered

It took Hermione an hour to fight off the unwelcome memories that had come rushing back upon returning to the Burrow. No one had disturbed her hiding place; she remained sitting on the grass, resting against the side of the house. As Hermione contemplated how long she could remain there before someone came to look for her, her answer arrived in the form of George Weasley, who peeked around the corner and spotted her. As he walked closer, Hermione was saddened to see that the mischievous twinkle hadn't yet returned to his eyes, and that the smile he gave her showed none of the mirth that she still associated with him.

"Dad's been looking for you," George said as he sat on the ground beside her. "It's your turn with Bill, to go over your plans for the mission tomorrow."

"Oh," said Hermione, moving to stand up.

"Oi, no need to hurry off," said George, reaching up to grasp her wrist. "Bill's got plenty to do; he won't really miss you for a few more minutes." When Hermione remained standing he added, "C'mon Hermione, I'm perfectly harmless." George flashed an overly innocent expression, and Hermione couldn't stop herself from cracking a small smile. She returned to her spot against the house and George leaned back against the wall next to her, pulled up one leg, and rested an arm across his raised knee. After a few quiet moments, he spoke again.

"I'm rubbish at small talk, so I'll get right to it." George's tone had flattened, and Hermione raised her eyebrows at him curiously.

"I'm not daft enough to ask how you've been, Hermione, but I do care about how you're doing." George's eyes were suddenly serious, looking even less like they belonged to the carefree prankster that Hermione had known for years.

"Everyone here cares about you, but they won't all understand. Mum, Ron, Ginny…people are going to have questions. But I know that sometimes…" George scratched the back of his head as he searched for the right words. "Sometimes you just don't have any answers to give. Things just…_are_. And you just _are_." George shook his head. "Bugger. That didn't make any sense, did it?"

Hermione wasn't sure what to say, so she continued to smile encouragingly at George as he gathered his thoughts.

"People keep expecting me to…to…I don't know. Be just like I was with Fred, I guess." George sighed. "But that's not me anymore. You can't go through a change like that and still be the exact same person afterwards. They don't understand, and it hurts them because they care about me and they can't help."

"But the point is," George said, looking purposefully into Hermione's eyes, "they care."

"Ginny…Ginny doesn't seem to," Hermione said without thinking.

George smiled sadly. "Well," he replied, "Ginny's not very happy with anyone or anything these days. I've tried to talk to her, but…." George trailed off, and then shook his head. "Just don't take it too personally."

"What about Ron?" Hermione asked in a quiet voice.

George shifted uncomfortably and didn't answer right away, and Hermione, recognizing his uneasiness, felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over her.

"I won't lie to you, Hermione…Ron took it hard when you left. I mean, in one day he lost his two best friends. But...I don't think he's angry. Mostly just confused, I reckon. You can't blame him; he hadn't been without you two since he was eleven years old; since his first day at Hogwarts."

A tear slid down Hermione's cheek. To hear it put like that….

"Hey," George said in a soothing voice, "it's not your fault, okay? I don't know exactly why you felt you had to leave, but I still get it. You could've done a million different things and I wouldn't have questioned any of them. At a time like that, you do what you feel you have to. You can't always explain what you're feeling or where it's coming from, and you can't control it. You just do what you have to in order to get by."

Hermione nodded, sniffled, and wiped her eyes.

"Besides," George went on, a brighter tone returning to his voice. "You wouldn't want to hang around Ronniekins these days, anyway. All he ever does anymore is study and train and read book after boring book."

Hermione responded with a cough that was caught between a laugh and a sob. "Are you sure that you're thinking of the right brother?"

"You'll hardly recognize him. I guess without a troublemaker like you around to distract him from his studies," Hermione snorted as George looked at her accusingly, "the little prefect has finally applied himself."

Hermione gave George a rare wide grin, and he smiled back for a few moments before abruptly standing up.

"Well, you should really quit dilly-dallying and get in there, Hermione. Honestly, I don't know what's gotten into you, keeping Bill waiting like that. You're holding up the entire operation." Hermione stood, playfully slapping George's hand away when he offered his assistance.

George rocked on his heels with his hands in his pockets, smiling smugly. His old act was back in place, but she knew it was really just for her benefit.

"Thanks," she said, hugging him. "I really needed that."

"I'm always here if you need me," said George, hugging her back.

"That goes for you, too," Hermione said. "I know that I haven't been here for you – _any_ of you – but…I'd like that to change." George smiled and gave a nod.

Stepping back, Hermione took a calming breath and walked past George on her way back inside the Burrow. Before she rounded the corner of the house, however, he called after her.

"Hermione – _you're_ going to have to go to _him_. Ron…well…he feels like he's already tried to talk to you, and that if you had wanted to talk to him, you would have."

Hermione thought of the unopened letters at home in her desk drawer, all addressed to her in Ron's messy handwriting, and nodded that she understood.

* * * * * * *

Hermione's meeting with Bill was a short one since they had previously discussed the plan many times while researching the school's wards together. As their previous communications had been through coded owl post, Bill simply wanted to go over Hermione's role one last time, face to face.

Afterwards, Hermione noticed that most of the crowd from the meeting had left and that only those who would be directly involved in the raid on Hogwarts remained. This included most of the Weasley family, much to Mrs. Weasley's dismay, who fretted about with so much nervous energy that Hermione suspected she might pass out or explode if she stopped moving.

Hermione's anxiety raised another notch with the arrival of Madame Pomfrey just before dinner. In the morning the school nurse would prepare the sitting room to care for anyone who might be wounded during the mission. Thinking of the worst, Hermione realized how precious the next few hours would be. If she didn't use them to talk to Ron and try to set things right, she might never….

No, they were going to come through this okay; there would be other chances. But still, Hermione had to be sure. She resolved to talk to Ron after dinner, even if he hated her.

With the kitchen table full, Hermione ate her dinner in the sitting room. George joined her and they ate in amicable silence. Hermione's churning stomach kept her from enjoying her meal, however. While the anxiety triggered by returning to the Burrow had begun to settle – thanks in no small part to her earlier chat with George, Bill's words of assurance, and regular cheerful check-ins from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley – the thought of confronting Ron brought her nerves back full force.

Hermione hadn't caught a glimpse of Ron since the meeting, and she knew that he wasn't eating in the kitchen with the others. Ginny, too, had kept out of sight, until – while Hermione was returning her still half-full plate to the kitchen – she saw the younger girl walk out the back door holding two dinner plates, one of them piled high with an extra-large portion of food.

Hermione returned to the sitting room and sat silently as George went through three helpings. She began to prepare what she would say to Ron, but nothing that came to mind sounded quite right. Hermione wasn't entirely sure why she had acted the way she did, so how could she explain it to someone else?

Finally, Hermione heard the back door open and shut, soon followed by the sound of someone climbing the stairs. Taking a deep breath, she moved to stand but found that her legs didn't want to support her. Steadying herself, Hermione caught George's eye, who smiled at her encouragingly and nodded toward the stairs. She tried to smile back, but knew she had done a poor job of it.

* * * * * * *

Hermione reached the top floor and stopped. In front of her, through the open door marked "Ronald's Room," stood Ron with his back to her. Her heart began to hammer in her chest, and she felt a strong urge to turn around and run back down the stairs. Summoning all of her courage, Hermione closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped to the doorway.

"Hello, Ron."

Startled, Ron snapped his head around toward her. His eyes, full of surprise and something else Hermione couldn't place, locked onto hers.

"Hi," he said, swallowing hard.

His stare was scorching her, so she looked to the floor. What was behind those brilliant blue eyes? Was he at all happy to see her? Did he hate her? Hermione suddenly felt as if she might not be able to survive the answer.

"I, um, thought I might say hello since I didn't see you at dinner," she said, timidly.

Ron turned his body to face her fully.

"Yeah, I've…I've been meaning to catch you but, y'know…busy day," he said.

"Yeah, I know. Me too," said Hermione.

There was an awkward pause during which Hermione remained stock-still and Ron seemed to search for something to do with his hands. He eventually settled on crossing his arms.

"Bill's a slave driver," he said. "He's a brilliant leader and all that, but mental."

Hermione gave a polite, but somewhat shaky, smile, and then another uneasy silence settled between them.

"Could I…?" Hermione finally asked, gesturing into the room. Ron looked confused for a moment before he understood her question.

"Oh, right – come on in."

Ron turned to his bed and began to make a place for her to sit, quickly tossing some clothes aside and pulling his unmade sheets up. He stepped back and silently gestured to the now-suitable spot, and Hermione sat stiffly in the offered seat, resting her clasped hands in her lap. Ron turned away and continued tidying up, as if he suddenly realized that his messy room wasn't suitable for a visitor. Ron looked everywhere but at Hermione while he kicked objects under the bed, stuffed things in drawers, and piled clothes on the floor of his closet.

Ron's fervent cleaning gave Hermione a few moments to catch her breath and steady her nerves. Her heart was now thumping so hard that it pounded in her ears. She looked around at Ron's room and noticed that it was still decorated in the orange and black of his beloved Chudley Cannons, with an old faded poster of the team still hung on a wall.

Turning her eyes to Ron's back as he put the last pile of collected clothes in the closet, Hermione noticed that, while he was as tall as ever, Ron had filled out a bit more and had lost much of his gangly appearance. She felt her cheeks grow warm as her eyes took in his broad shoulders and strong-looking arms.

"You look well," Hermione said in a voice slightly higher than she had intended.

Her comment seemed to snap Ron out of his thoughts. After a brief pause, he closed his closet door and turned toward her, but still did not look at her.

"Ah…thanks. Um, you, too," he replied with a quick glance in Hermione's direction. She could just make out a little pink on the tips of his ears.

"Ron…I need to explain…why I left."

Ron's eyes finally connected with hers again.

"Well, okay…but, y'know, you don't have to. It's all right."

"No, I really need to and…and you deserve to know," Hermione said, her mind set.

She could do this. As terrified as she was to be back at the Burrow – and as scared as she was of Ron's reaction to what she had to say – she felt, in his presence, some of her old strength return.

Ron crossed the room and began to move piles of books – _books?_ – from what Hermione now recognized as a cot, and placed them on the floor. She remembered the cot as the place where Harry would sleep when he stayed at the Burrow, and felt the familiar icy feeling that accompanied unexpected reminders of her missing best friend. Ron sat on the book-free cot and faced Hermione, waiting expectantly.

"Well…I suppose the truth is that I'm not entirely sure how to explain it," said Hermione, staring at her hands in her lap.

"I just couldn't handle it all. After all those months on the run looking for the Horcruxes, and after what happened in Godric's Hollow, at Gringott's, and Malfoy Manor," Hermione flinched at the horrible memory of Bellatrix's Cruciatus Curse. "After the battle at Hogwarts…after Moody, Lupin, Tonks, and Fred…. I think…I think I was already close to…to…I don't know. Losing it, I guess."

Ron kept silent as Hermione paused for a few seconds.

"And then when…when I found…H-Harry," Hermione stuttered, closing her eyes. "That was…that was just it for me; I couldn't take any more. I just had to get away from…well, everything. The war, the magical world, and everything and everyone in it."

After a shaky breath, Hermione looked back up at Ron and wiped a tear from her cheek. Ron's face was unreadable; he certainly didn't seem at all surprised at what she had said so far. Shifting uncomfortably, Ron drew a slow breath and spoke.

"I knew you were…shaken up, and I don't blame you after everything you went through," he said, leaning forward to rest his folded arms on his knees. "It was tough on everybody. I just…I don't understand why you couldn't stay and let us help you."

"I didn't _want_ to leave," Hermione said in a near whisper. "It wasn't a rational decision. It just felt like, if I stayed in this house another minute, I wouldn't be able to take it anymore." Hermione shook her head, frustrated with her inability to fully convey what she had felt. "I wish I knew how to explain it properly."

Ron sighed and rubbed his hands over his face, and Hermione could sense his building frustration.

"It's been a _year_, Hermione. Even if you didn't want to come back, you still couldn't send word, not even a single owl?"

Hermione felt a pang of guilt as she once again pictured the stack of Ron's letters that she kept, unopened, in her desk drawer back at home.

"I mean," Ron continued, "if dad hadn't talked to you a couple of times, I wouldn't even know what happened to you. I was going to come see you, but he wouldn't let me; he said that you wanted me – all of us – to stay away."

Hermione could now hear hurt mixed with the frustration in his voice. Wiping away another tear, she redoubled her efforts to hold back her emotions so that she could respond.

"I missed you – all of you – so very much. I told you, my fear…it's irrational. Just sitting here," Hermione gestured to the area around her, "just being back at the Burrow…it's hard to _breathe_." She said this with her hand over her chest to emphasize the point, leaning toward Ron and begging him with her eyes to understand. "I get dizzy and it all just comes rushing back. I wish _so much_ that this wasn't so hard for me, Ron, I really do…but it just _is_."

"But Hermione, we've been through plenty of tough times – you and me, and Harry – and we always got through them _together_." Ron spoke a little louder and faster as his frustration rose. "I think I get what you're saying about needing to leave for a while, but I could have come _with_ you, or…or I could have at least _visited_. Why couldn't I help? Why…why couldn't we write each other, or…."

"Ron, you're not listening," said Hermione, her voice rising. She was now getting frustrated as well, both with Ron and herself. Why couldn't she explain her actions better? Why couldn't he just understand anyway? "It wasn't a matter of what I wanted or didn't want, I…I just _couldn't_. I was too scared, I –"

"But you're the bravest witch I've ever known!" Ron replied, sitting up straight and throwing his arms into the air in exasperation.

Hermione sensed a row coming on, which she desperately needed to avoid right now. It wouldn't do either of them any good and, truth be told, her guilt wouldn't let her fully defend herself. Moving her eyes back to her lap, Hermione lowered her voice and spoke softly.

"I'm sorry, Ron. Everyone has their limits, I suppose. I wish…I wish I had your strength." Hermione sniffled and gave a wan smile.

Ron deflated and slouched forward to rest his arms on his knees again. He bowed his head and asked, in a calm voice, "How…how long are you staying?"

Hermione closed her eyes and shook her head. "After tomorrow…I don't know."

Ron looked up, and instead of the frustration that had been building in him, Hermione saw only concern in his eyes.

"Are you sure about the mission?" he asked. "Bill could probably still find someone else to be the lookout if you're not up to it, or if you're unsure, or –"

"No, it should be me," she replied, but not sounding entirely certain. "I've helped Bill research the wards for months, and I know more about Hogwarts than anyone else available. I won't be at much risk up on the Astronomy Tower, but if something comes up, I'll be qualified to –"

"If something comes up," Ron interrupted, a warning in his voice, "you'll _stay_ on the Astronomy Tower."

They sat, staring at each other in silence for several long moments, before Hermione looked away.

"Ron, I _need_ to do this. I can't just hide at home anymore, pretending this war doesn't exist, that the people I care about aren't in danger. It isn't easy for me…but I'll manage." Hermione returned a more decisive gaze to Ron and said resolutely, "I want to help."

Ron stared at her again, and that mysterious something returned to his eyes – the something Hermione could not place. He made a movement toward her, but just then, a voice snapped their attention to the doorway.

"Ron, mum wants you," Ginny said curtly. Although she spoke to her brother, Ginny glared at Hermione.

"Uh, okay," Ron distractedly replied as he looked back at Hermione. "Tell her I'll be there in just a minute."

Ginny remained standing by the door and looked pointedly at her brother.

"She wants to see you _right now_."

"Yeah, I'll _be there_," Ron said irritably, returning Ginny's glare with one of his own.

When Ron still didn't move, Ginny opened her mouth to speak again, but closed it. With one last angry glance at Hermione, she turned from the doorway and stomped down the stairs.

"Sorry about that," Ron sighed. "I…um…guess I should get down there before she brings mum up here and they both start yelling at me."

They both stood and took a step toward each other. For a moment it looked as if Ron had started to reach out to Hermione, but he quickly stuffed both hands into his pockets. They looked at each other awkwardly, and Ron gave a small smile and sighed.

"Well then," Hermione finally said. "It was good seeing you again, Ron…really good."

"Yeah…you too, Hermione. I'm glad you're back, even if…" Ron's smile faltered. "Even if it's not for long."

Hermione reached out and picked at a loose thread on his shirt. The small touch made her suddenly feel very warm, and without looking up at Ron's face, she stepped closer to him as if in a daze, her eyes transfixed on the thread.

Then, through the dizzying fog in her head, Hermione only half realized she had put her arms around him in a tentative embrace. Ron remained still for several moments, but then Hermione felt his hands slowly reach around her. Once in his arms, Hermione's walls finally broke. Gripping him tightly, she hid her face in his chest and began to cry. Ron's hold on her tightened, and she felt him begin to gently rub her back.

At that moment Hermione realized – she _knew_ – that leaving had been the biggest mistake of her life; that the comfort she so desperately needed had been here, in Ron's arms, the entire time. And, having looked into his eyes, she knew for sure that he had needed her, too, and she hated herself more than ever for leaving him.

"I…I should never have left," choked Hermione between sobs. "I made such a big mistake…."

"Shhh," Ron soothed. "It's okay, Hermione. It's all right…you're here, now."

Hermione sniffled against Ron's shirt.

"It's _not_ all right…I don't think I can _ever_ make it all right…."

"RON!"

They broke apart at Mrs. Weasley's loud voice, which boomed up at them from the bottom of the stairs.

Ron rolled his eyes and yelled toward the open door.

"Yeah, I'll be right there!"

Hermione immediately missed Ron's touch, and she hastened to wipe her face, which she had managed to force into a smile. Ron took a couple of backward steps toward the door, scratching his head nervously while avoiding Hermione's eyes. A few uneasy moments passed as neither seemed to know what to say or how to part. Reaching the door, Ron found his words.

"Listen, Hermione…be careful tomorrow, yeah? Just stay out of sight up on the tower, and get out of there as soon as you can, all right?"

"I will, Ron – but you have to be careful, too."

Ron gave a nod. "Deal. And…after it's over, and we're back…maybe we can talk again?"

A genuine smile spread across Hermione's face. "Deal."

Ron walked through the doorway and Hermione followed him.

"You know," Ron said over his shoulder, "they say that breaking through the wards at Hogwarts is impossible, but I reckon Bill might just pull it off."

"I hope so," said Hermione. "Other wizards have tried –"

"Well, not since Amias Archibald," Ron broke in. "And that was a couple hundred years ago. And he tried to destroy the wards completely, and that's _never_ going to work."

Hermione stopped walking and gawked at Ron.

"That's…right, Ron. How did you know that?"

"What, you think you're the only one who's ever read _Hogwarts: A History_?" he replied with a smirk. Ron descended the stairs, leaving a wide-eyed Hermione behind, gaping at him.

* * * * * * *

Hermione reentered the sitting room in a kind of trance. All things considered, her talk with Ron had gone about as well as she could have reasonably hoped. He hadn't screamed at her, jinxed her, or kicked her out of his room, as she had imagined him doing so many times over the past few days. Things weren't _great_ between them, but for the first time, she could imagine things going back to the way they used to be with Ron and honestly believe in it, at least a little. She felt numb and drained as she plopped back down on the sofa, staring off into space.

"Getting on all right, Hermione?"

Hermione blinked and her eyes found Mr. Weasley sitting in the chair across from her, who she'd walked past without realizing it. A smile stretched across her face, and Mr. Weasley's concerned gaze softened. She suddenly wondered if he'd known where she had been, and was checking to make sure she was okay.

"Better and better," she told him, and he beamed at her.

"Glad to hear it," he said, relaxing back into his well-worn armchair. "I do hope you'll consider staying after tomorrow. I'll understand if you want to go back home, of course, but you're a breath of fresh air around here."

Mr. Weasley leaned toward Hermione and spoke just a little lower.

"Molly just loaded Ron up with pillows and sent him around to help everyone get settled for bed, and I think I actually saw him smile. I can't remember the last time."

Hermione looked down as she felt her face grow warm and her own smile grow even wider.

A few moments passed in comfortable silence before Mr. Weasley pushed up out of his armchair.

"Well, it's getting late and we've all got a big day ahead of us tomorrow," he said, his tone slightly more serious. "Better get to bed. Your things are already in Ginny's room."

"_Ginny's_ room?" replied Hermione, taken aback. "Um, I…."

"Yes?" asked Mr. Weasley, when Hermione had gone quiet.

After Ginny's display in Ron's room, Hermione didn't think for one second that the girl would be happy with this sleeping arrangement. And as desperate as Hermione was to get back on good terms with her former close friend, she really didn't want to ruin the good mood that her talk with Ron had left her in. Hermione saw no easy way out, however, as every other bedroom was occupied and she would be expected to use the room she had always stayed in before.

"Er, nothing," Hermione replied, and stood from the couch. "Goodnight, Mr. Weasley, and thanks…for everything."

Mr. Weasley gave her a quick hug, and then held her shoulders at arm's length.

"You've come a long way today, and I am _very_ proud of you," he said. Putting an arm across her shoulders, he led her out of the room and back to the stairs.

* * * * * * *

When Hermione opened the door to Ginny's room, she was relieved to find it empty. Perhaps, if she hurried, she could prepare for bed and fall asleep – or _pretend_ to be asleep – before Ginny showed up.

Hermione spotted her suitcase by the guest bed that had been set up for her, and rushed to it. Glancing around, she noticed that – as had been then case with Ron's room – Ginny's bedroom hadn't changed much since Hermione last visited. It was a bit messy – Ginny had always been tidy before – but everything else was exactly as Hermione remembered it, right down to the Holyhead Harpies and Weird Sisters posters on the walls.

Hermione quickly undressed, pulled on her pink pyjama bottoms and white camisole, and pulled down her bed sheets. Just as she was about to lie down, however, something caught her eye from the nightstand next to Ginny's bed, something that definitely hadn't been there the last time she had been in Ginny's room.

Hermione momentarily forgot her rush to get into bed and walked to the nightstand. She didn't know how or when Ginny had gotten them, but there was no mistaking it: those were definitely Harry's glasses. They sat next to the lamp, and had been carefully placed so that the round lenses stood upright, just as Harry himself would have put them before going to sleep.

Just then, Hermione heard muffled voices coming from downstairs. She couldn't make out the words, but she could tell that it was Ginny and Mrs. Weasley speaking, and that they were arguing. Hermione had a pretty good idea why, and she instantly felt even more nervous about sharing Ginny's room.

Ginny shouted something, Mrs. Weasley raised her voice in response, and then they both went quiet. Hermione stood frozen, straining to hear what might be said next. After several tense, silent moments passed by, however, the next sound was that of someone stomping up the stairs.

Hermione dashed for the bed, but only managed to get halfway into it before the door banged open and Ginny, red in the face and looking furious, stormed into the room. She glared daggers at Hermione as she walked to her dresser, jerked the top drawer open, and yanked out a t-shirt like it had somehow wronged her.

Hermione quietly settled into a sitting position on her bed and pulled the covers up to her waist. She looked the other way when Ginny flung off her clothes and pulled on a white, ragged men's t-shirt that was at least three sizes too big and stopped just above her knees. When Hermione looked back at her, Ginny was facing away as she undid her ponytail and let her long red hair fall down her back. Without another look in Hermione's direction, Ginny pulled down her bed sheets, turned off the lamp on her nightstand, and got into bed.

Hermione remained sitting up, the room now dark and silent. She was exhausted – physically, mentally, and emotionally – but she couldn't go to sleep with things this bad between them; not when she was leaving for a dangerous mission the next day.

"Ginny," Hermione said softly, into the dark.

"Hermione, if you say one more word, I _swear_ I will curse you." Ginny's voice was hard and deadly serious.

Hermione took a deep breath, picked up her wand, and cast a noise-dampening spell at the door. With another flick, she re-lit the lamp.

Hermione pushed down her covers and swung around so that she sat with her legs hung over the side the bed. She faced Ginny, who was staring at her, enraged, from her pillow.

"Let's have it, then," Hermione said, as calmly as she could.

Ginny didn't speak but kept her eyes locked on Hermione, who began to worry that she really was about to be cursed.

"Are you back for good?" asked Ginny.

"I…I want to be, but…I don't know," Hermione replied. She felt stronger and more secure about being back in the magical world, but she still had her parents to think about.

"Then stay away from Ron," Ginny snapped.

Hermione hadn't known what to expect Ginny to say, but it certainly wasn't that.

"I'm serious," Ginny continued, sitting up in her bed. "You either stick around this time – and treat Ron like you give a damn about him – or you stay the hell away from him."

"I _care_ about Ron, Ginny. I've always –"

"I know you do, Hermione," Ginny interrupted. "Even before you figured it out for yourself, I could tell that you were crazy about him. If you _weren't_ crazy about him, maybe I could understand how you could leave him. But he meant as much to you as you did to him, and you took off anyway. You were the last thing he had left after Harry died, and you _abandoned_ him. I will _never_ forgive you for that."

"Ginny, I…I couldn't possibly feel any worse –"

"Try harder."

Hermione was stunned by the hatred in Ginny's voice. And even worse, she knew that Ginny was right. As much as Hermione wanted – _needed_ – Ron and Ginny's forgiveness, she knew that she didn't deserve it.

"After you took off…I have _never_ seen Ron like that," said Ginny. "And I won't ever see him like that again. It took him a long time to…." Trailing off, Ginny looked toward the ceiling and simply shook her head.

"You have to believe me, Ginny," pleaded Hermione. "I didn't _want_ to go. I wasn't being rational, I…I was in shock –"

"Look, Hermione – I understand that you got rattled and needed time to clear your head. I mean, I know it can't have been easy finding Harry with…with his face all…messed up –"

"His face was all they _left_!" Hermione shouted, her nerves and frustration getting the better of her. "So we'd know it was him!"

Ginny paled. Her father hadn't let her or anyone else see Harry before the burial. Despite Mr. Weasley's best attempts to make it presentable, the body had been too ravaged by dark magic, so he and Hermione had agreed to keep the details of its condition between themselves; they didn't want the people Harry had loved to remember him that way.

The anger that had suddenly flared in Hermione faded as she watched Ginny absorb what she had said. Ginny wrapped her arms around herself and stared aimlessly around the room, no doubt imagining what horrors her ex-boyfriend might have endured before finally being murdered. When Ginny spoke again, she looked down at her sheets, still holding herself.

"You were gone for over a _year_, Hermione. You could've at least owled, let him know you were _alive_."

Ginny looked up at Hermione, and her eyes – which had been full of fire – now simply looked tired.

"God," Ginny said, exasperated, "how could you not respond to those letters he sent you? He poured his _heart_ out into those…."

Hermione looked away, feeling her full shame come rushing back.

"I…I never read them," she said, in nearly a whisper. Ginny was silent, and Hermione couldn't muster the courage to look at her.

"So…let me get this straight," Ginny said, the edge returning to her voice. "Ron's over here crying his eyes out, not sleeping, not eating, not talking to anyone, and you were just chucking his letters in the bin?"

"No, I k-kept them," Hermione stuttered. "I just didn't – I _couldn't_ – open them. Please Ginny, I know that I was horrible, I know I was being a coward, but you have to understand that it wasn't because…I mean, I thought about Ron every _minute_, but if I focused too much on him, or you, or anything connected to the magical world…I would start to panic. I…I would get dizzy, or sick, or…or hyperventilate…."

Hermione closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath. What she would say next she had never admitted before, not even to herself.

"And I knew that if I read them, I wouldn't be able to stay away…and I was terrified of coming back."

"You know what the worst part is?" Ginny spat, with no recognition of how difficult the admission had been for Hermione. "When Ron was going to hell, and we couldn't get him to eat or look after himself, he was only worried about _you_. Worried that your Muggle parents wouldn't know how to help you, or that the wards dad put around your house weren't safe enough."

Hermione felt sick as she realized how easy Ron had been on her during their talk. Why didn't he hate her? Why didn't he scream at her for ruining his life? The image of him suffering, while thinking only of her, was too much. Hermione screwed up her face and clenched her fists in her hair as frustration, guilt, and her anger at herself boiled over.

"I KNOW I MESSED UP!" she screamed, sounding frantic. "I KNOW IT, OKAY? BUT I WAS HURTING, TOO!"

"YOU DON'T _GET_ IT!" Ginny shouted back, her own anger erupting. "YOU LOST HARRY, BUT YOU _STILL_ HAD RON! HE SHOULD'VE BEEN MORE IMPORTANT TO YOU THAN _ANYTHING_ –"

"STOP IT!" cried Hermione, curling in upon herself.

"AND YOU TREATED HIM LIKE _DIRT_!" spat Ginny.

"SHUT UP!" Hermione yelled.

"YOU DON'T DESERVE TO JUST COME BACK AND GET HIM NOW!" continued Ginny, mercilessly. "I WOULD'VE GIVEN _ANYTHING_ FOR WHAT YOU HAD, FOR WHAT YOU JUST THREW AWAY! WHY SHOULD YOU GET RON NOW, WHEN I...WHEN I'LL NEVER…."

Ginny, who had risen to her knees in anger, suddenly slumped back to the bed with her hands over her face, sobbing. At that moment, Hermione finally understood the true source of Ginny's anger. It must have seemed so unfair when Hermione tossed aside the very thing that Ginny would have treasured above all else: a chance to be with the man she loved.

Ginny soon regained control and her voice was no longer angry, but hollow as she spoke, her eyes looking down at her bed.

"I would give my _life_ for just one more week with Harry…and you and Ron had ages…."

The heartbreaking sadness that radiated from Ginny overrode everything else going on in Hermione's mind, and she moved to comfort the girl before she could think better of it. She sat gently on the bed next to Ginny, who lay down and rolled over to face away from Hermione.

"He always thought about you, you know," soothed Hermione in a soft voice.

"Don't," Ginny choked out.

"He would pull out the Marauder's Map and stare at your dot while you were still at school…."

"_Please_, don't…." Ginny begged.

"I know that he loved –"

"NO!" Ginny shouted, turning over to fire a warning glare at Hermione. "He never got to say that, so you don't get to, either."

Hermione didn't push it any further, and Ginny rolled back over, her face once again hidden from view.

"I loved him since I was ten," Ginny said, sniffling. "Since before I even knew what love was. I had to wait five long years to finally be with him, and I only had him for a few weeks." Ginny took a shaky breath. "After that, I spent a year without hearing a single word from him, not knowing if he was even still alive. And then I saw him one last time at Hogwarts, just before…."

When Ginny didn't continue, Hermione filled in, "Just before the battle."

Ginny nodded against her pillow.

"You have no idea how many times I've wished for those last few moments back," Ginny went on. "Wished that I'd told him how I really felt, or that I'd kissed him one last time. And now he's been dead for over a year, and I still can't let him go. I…I just don't know _how_ to let him go…I don't think I ever will, and it's killing me."

Hermione wiped tears from her eyes.

"Maybe…maybe you won't, but you'll be okay; you'll figure it out. You're not like me, Ginny; you're strong."

Ginny responded with something between a laugh and a sob.

"Could you tell that to everybody else around here? They all think I'm mental and won't let me do anything to really help. They think I can't handle it, or that I just want to snuff it, like I've got a death wish or something. I've lost Harry and I've lost a brother, and all I can do about it is set the bloody table for dinner."

Hermione squeezed Ginny's shoulder, and Ginny sighed.

"Maybe they're right," she said, "maybe I am a nutter. That horrible last year of school; all that fighting against Snape and the Carrows; going into hiding when our family was targeted…the only thing that kept me going was the dream that I could finally have Harry when it was all over. I would think about a life with him and it would keep me sane. I…I used to dream that…." Ginny became quiet and shook her head, unable to finish her thought. "When he died, I lost _everything_."

"I know that I can't expect you to believe me," Hermione said, her hand still on Ginny's shoulder. "And I know that I don't deserve your trust…but Ginny, I am so sorry that I haven't been here for you. No matter what happens next, I promise that I will be here for you and Ron from now on."

"Just don't hurt him anymore, Hermione," said Ginny, still facing away.

"I…I won't."

Several long, silent moments passed between them before Ginny spoke again.

"It's late, and you really should get some sleep for tomorrow."

Hermione understood her dismissal, but felt as if there was more to say, even if the words hadn't yet come to mind.

"Goodnight, Hermione," pressed Ginny, when Hermione failed to respond.

Realizing that the discussion had gone as far as it could for the time being, Hermione rubbed Ginny's arm and walked back to her own bed. She picked up her wand and used it to put out the lamp and disable the silencing charm that she had put on the door, and then climbed under the covers.

As she lay in the darkness, Hermione's thoughts drifted to Harry and how, without him, they had all fallen apart. He had always been the glue that held them together; she probably wouldn't have taken the time to get to know Ron if they both weren't Harry's friends, and Ginny hadn't spent any significant amount of time around them until she began dating Harry. Without him, their group had splintered and become lost.

Hermione had loved him – not in the same way that Ginny had, but Hermione's feelings for Harry ran deep enough to understand what Ginny was going through. Hermione, too, would miss Harry every day for the rest of her life.

What she wouldn't give to see him just one more time.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Next:

The day of the mission finally arrives! Members of the Order of the Phoenix attempt to infiltrate Hogwarts, as Harry stands ready to make his escape from the Chamber of Secrets. But could a surprise visitor ruin their plans?

Coming soon, the fourth chapter of _The World I Leave Behind_, "Graduation Day."

"Are…are you sure that Dumbledore is right about this?"

"I just don't want to reopen old wounds."

"I don't think I could ever say goodbye, Harry."

"I…I wish I could have given you a better life."

"Give 'em hell, kid."

"Minty fresh."

"Not as much as me."


	5. Chapter Four: Graduation Day

"I'm going to miss our talks, Harry," said a woman's soft voice, full of warmth and affection. "I'm going to miss you so very much."

Harry didn't think he could continue to hold back his tears if he spoke, so he managed a weak smile instead. He stared into her face, etching its every detail into his memory as permanently as possible.

But when her tears came, it became too much and he finally lost control. Harry sputtered a single weak laugh to cover his embarrassment as he wiped his eyes.

"I'll miss you too, mum."

**The World I Leave Behind**  
Chapter Four: Graduation Day

According to the late Fred Weasley, who kept a watchful eye on his brothers from the world beyond our own, this was the day that members of his family would attempt to penetrate the protective wards surrounding Hogwarts, where Harry had lived for a year locked inside the Chamber of Secrets. The possibility of freedom at long last – even though Harry's ultimate fate remained to die by Voldemort's hand – was what he had wished for during his many long, torturous months of captivity. But now that Harry's opportunity to escape had finally arrived, he found that a part of him almost didn't want to leave.

For while Harry remained in the chamber, he had regular contact with loved ones that he once thought he had lost forever; even those he never imagined he would get the chance to know.

"Are…are you sure that Dumbledore is right about this?" asked Harry, his emotions back in check. "I mean, if I manage to get Voldemort to kill me in order to destroy his bit of soul that's in me," Harry's mother winced at his frankness, "I won't be around for a lot longer – would there really be much harm in taking the Resurrection Stone with me?"

Lily Potter's face fell. She seemed unwilling to answer as she looked away and tucked a long strand of dark red hair behind her ear. After a moment she took a deep breath, appeared to muster her resolve, and returned her watery emerald eyes to her son's matching pair.

"I think…I think Dumbledore is right," she said, hesitantly. "As much as I can't bear the thought of not being able to talk to you or…or be there for you…." Lily closed her eyes and shook her head. When she spoke again, her gaze fell to the floor between where she and Harry sat facing each other.

"The stone really shouldn't be used this way," she sighed. "Dumbledore is right, the dead aren't meant to be among the living. We've…we've broken the rules while you've been here because you were alone and…and you needed us. The fate of the whole _world_ depends on you being able to do what you need to. But we've told you and taught you all that we can; there's nothing more we can do to help." Lily looked at Harry apologetically and managed a smile. She leaned forward and put her hand over his, her semisolid fingers giving Harry a warm tingling sensation where they overlapped his skin.

"And…and if everything goes according to plan," she said, the sadness in her voice betraying her attempt at comfort, "we'll see each other again soon…and we won't ever have to be apart again."

"Yeah, I know," shrugged Harry. "It's…I'll be fine. I guess I've just gotten used to talking to you and dad whenever I want."

"It's been a gift," his mother added. "I wish with all my heart that the circumstances had been different, that you hadn't been put in this awful, horrible place. But our talks…getting to know the man you've become," Lily smiled wider and rubbed at a new tear. "I will always treasure our time together."

"Um, shouldn't…shouldn't dad be here by now?" Harry said, in an attempt to head off the fresh wave of emotion that once again threatened his control.

"Well, he had to round all of them up, didn't he?" his mother answered. "I'm sure that your father will be along soon."

Harry nodded and absentmindedly looked around the empty room. He wasn't sure what else to say – how do you tell your mother goodbye? A few awkward moments crawled by before she broke the silence.

"Harry, listen…I want you to do something for me," she said, with an added note of seriousness to her tone. Harry turned his gaze back to her.

"Once you're free…with whatever time you have left…try to live. Really _live_. Go places, do things; be with the people you care about. Whether you've got months, weeks, or just days, make the most of them…because you won't ever be going back. Take it from someone who would know; your time there – every second of it – is precious."

"And tell Ginny," she added with a smile, "to give you a hug for me."

Harry rubbed the back of his neck and looked down.

"I don't…I don't know, mum," he said in a low voice. "I mean, Ginny – everybody – thinks I'm dead, and they've had a long time to get used to it. I mean…what would I say? 'I'm actually _not_ dead, but sorry, I can't stay because I'm off to get myself killed for real this time?'" Lily opened her mouth to speak, but Harry kept going. "I think it might be better to just…just let them get on with things. They don't need to worry about me, or…or…."

"Harry, seeing you would be good for them. It would give them a chance to say goodbye properly, to make peace with –"

"I just don't want to reopen old wounds," Harry interrupted.

His mother looked at him with eyes full of concern and caring, and she seemed to be debating something. "Harry," she said, tentatively. "Ginny isn't…. I mean, Fred has told me some…things. I didn't want to upset you before…but –"

Just then, several more semisolid people faded into view nearby. Looking around, Harry felt a rush of affection for each and every one of them: Fred, Remus, Tonks, Sirius, Dumbledore…and his father. Although they weren't close enough for Harry to see them properly without his missing glasses, he could almost feel their warm smiles.

As the group approached, Lily leaned closer to her son and spoke in a whisper that only he could hear.

"Please Harry, just go to her. She needs to see you. And tell her…tell her that I wish _so much_ that I could meet her, and that she seems like such a wonderful person."

Before Harry could respond, James Potter plopped down next to his wife and put an arm around her. "Sorry we ran a bit late, love," he said. Then, to Harry he added, "Hello, son," and smiled affectionately.

_Son_. Harry never got tired of hearing it.

"Hi dad," Harry said, beaming.

Harry straightened up to get a better look at the others who had joined them. "Well," he said, drawing in a deep breath, "I guess this is it."

"It won't be much longer," said Fred, who seemed to be gazing toward an empty corner of the room. "They're just about to set out. They would have done already, but Ron overslept, and then Georgie-boy nearly forgot the Marauder's Map. I swear, how our dear mother got us to King's Cross on time each year I will never know."

"Hold on," Fred added, his unfocused eyes growing wider, "Here they come…."

A few moments passed as everyone quietly watched Fred. Harry felt the butterflies in his stomach flutter into a frenzy.

"Right," Fred finally said, "they've Apparated to the north of the castle, just outside the wards."

"Any sign of trouble?" asked Dumbledore.

"No…no, everything seems okay," replied Fred. "Bill is starting to set up while the rest of the lot is spreading out to secure the area. And…wow, it's raining really hard out there. I suppose that's a good thing; it should help them from getting spotted."

Harry's whole body tingled with anticipation and nerves. His friends were just beyond the castle grounds; this was really happening.... Harry suddenly couldn't sit still anymore; he stood and began to pace around the room anxiously.

"Settle down, Harry," said a grinning Sirius. "We've still got a bit of a wait while Bill works on the wards."

Harry stopped moving and gave his godfather a nervous smile. "Easier said than done," he admitted. "I feel like my heart's about to beat out of my chest."

"Quite understandable," said Dumbledore, who smiled at Harry over his half-moon spectacles.

"Wait," said Harry, suddenly very serious. "Fred – you're sure that Ginny isn't with them?" Harry had been told exactly who would be joining Bill on the mission, but privately he had worried that his stubborn, fiery ex-girlfriend might yet find a way to come along and put herself in danger.

"No…no, she's definitely not here," answered Fred, staring yet again at some unseen image. "Let's see, we've got Bill, George, Charlie…and I'm sure that I saw…yeah, there's dad, and Kingsley, Percy, Ron, and…. Well, _that's_ new," said Fred with raised eyebrows. "Hermione."

"What?" asked Harry, alarmed. "I thought you said that _Cho_ was on the team."

"She was, last I checked," said Fred, sounding confused. "Hermione must have taken her place as lookout."

"She'll be stationed atop the Astronomy Tower, then," said Lily, who, along with her husband, had stood up with Harry. "She should be safe." Despite his mother's calming voice, Harry still didn't like this new development.

"What's Hermione doing here?" he asked, mostly to himself. "I thought no one had seen her for months...."

"Not for over a year, best I could tell," said Fred. "Oh," he continued, his focus again shifting elsewhere. "Bill's starting. It shouldn't be much longer, Harry."

"Then…we're just about out of time," said James, sounding both hopeful and resigned.

"Yeah," Harry replied, returning his father's stare before looking at the other smiling faces around him. "Guess so."

It felt as though Harry was about to board the Hogwarts Express and leave them all behind at Platform nine and three-quarters. They had been a family for more than a year – his only source of comfort – and it finally, truly hit him that this was goodbye.

"I don't…I don't know…what to say," Harry stammered, his voice uneven. "You've all helped me so much. Without you, I…I…."

Harry began to blink rapidly, and his godfather stepped in to help.

"We know. We _know_, Harry," said Sirius, his own eyes watery despite his smile.

"We will miss you, too," said Remus, who beamed at Harry while putting an arm around Tonks, who could only nod in agreement as she dabbed at her eyes. "Remember what we've taught you, and we will see you…again."

Harry's attention went to his mother as she stepped closer. Glittering trails of tears streaked down her translucent face, but her eyes matched her warm, genuine smile. "I don't think I could ever say goodbye, Harry," she said. "So I'll just say…so long for now." She reached out and placed her hand on Harry's cheek. It wasn't the touch or embrace that Harry ached for, but the tingling that he felt where her fingers brushed his skin was something.

"Please don't forget what I said," she whispered. Despite Harry's reservations about what his mother had asked him to do just minutes ago, he looked into her pleading eyes and said, "I won't, mum."

"Son…."

Harry took a steadying breath at the sound of his father's voice. He hadn't broken down into a blubbering mess in front of his mother, but he would be lucky to face both of his parents without losing control.

James stepped close and held out his arms as if to grip his son's shoulders, although the best he could manage was to keep his near-intangible hands held over them. His jaw was clenched into a tenuous smile, and Harry got the impression that his father was also working hard to manage his emotions.

"You've shouldered so much," said James, staring into his son's eyes. "I…I wish I could have given you a better life. All these years…to have seen you go through so many hard times and to be so helpless, I…I'm sorry, son."

"Dad," choked Harry, shaking his head in warning. His father's wistful words had already come close to reducing him to a sobbing wreck.

"I couldn't be prouder of you," James continued, smiling more brightly. "Of how you've held up, of everything you've done…of how you've managed to become such an amazing man despite everything. You truly are the best of us, Harry."

Harry bowed his head as his tears spilled over, and his father, joined by his mother, wrapped their arms around him in their best imitation of a hug.

A minute or so later, when Harry had composed himself and his parents had pulled away, he turned his watery eyes on his godfather, the only family member he had known in life before losing him and then finding him again.

"Sirius…."

"Give 'em hell, kid," interrupted Sirius with a sniffle and a wink. Harry got the impression that his godfather also didn't feel up to a teary farewell. Harry smiled and nodded at him.

"Do me a favor, Harry?" asked Fred.

"Sure," Harry replied. "Anything."

"If you see George, pass him a message for me. Tell him that I said, 'minty fresh.'"

"Er…right," said Harry. "He'll, uh…know what that means, I take it?"

Fred grinned. "Yeah, I reckon so."

"Any messages for the rest of your family?"

"Hmm," pondered Fred, rubbing his chin dramatically. "Nope, I figure that ought to do it."

Harry laughed. "Okay then, consider it done."

"Thanks mate," said Fred with a quick salute. "And try not to get yourself killed…well, until it's time to, I suppose." Lily gave Fred a disapproving look, but Harry's smile grew wider. Leave it to Fred to completely defuse the grimness of the situation.

Finally, Harry turned to Dumbledore, who had watched serenely as Harry said his goodbyes to the others. The aged wizard's eyes twinkled as he gave Harry his most brilliant smile.

"I will miss our lessons," said the former Hogwarts headmaster. "Despite the endless wonders and opportunities for learning that present themselves to me in my current state," he gestured at his semisolid body, "I find that I still prefer the satisfaction of teaching above all else. And you have been a most excellent student."

"Thanks, professor," said Harry, slightly embarrassed. "I can't thank you enough for…well, everything, really. Not just for your help this past year, but…for looking out for me my whole life. I wouldn't have had _any_ kind of life if it wasn't for you."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled even more brightly.

"Please, Harry – call me Albus. As of today you are no longer my student, and I daresay you have earned the right."

Harry chuckled as he considered the thought.

"I don't know," he said, smiling at Dumbledore, "I don't think that would ever sound right."

"It does take some getting used to," said James, who also gave a small laugh.

"Well, the offer stands, in any case," Dumbledore said, amused. "Mr. Weasley," he added, turning to Fred. "How are your brothers coming along?"

"Just a second," said Fred, and he turned his attention back to the group beyond the northern wards. "Nearly there, I think. It's tough to tell, but Bill seems really pleased, anyway."

"Excellent," said Dumbledore. "Now Harry, as we discussed, reach out with your magic and 'feel' for the wards. Continue to press lightly against them, and you should be able to tell when they open."

"Right, professor," said Harry. He closed his eyes in concentration and, as he had practiced for many months, felt for the inner flow of his magical energy. He found it quickly and focused on expanding it beyond his body until it nearly filled the room. Harry felt his senses heighten and was suddenly more aware of everything around him.

"I…I feel the wards, profess – um, _Albus_," he said. "I'm ready."

"Good, good," replied Dumbledore. "Remember Harry, despite his considerable talents, Bill will not be able to truly close down the wards. He should be able to keep a window open for ten to fifteen minutes, but no more. When you feel the wards falter, you must immediately Disapparate to safety. You mustn't –"

But Dumbledore was cut off by the grinding sound of sliding stone doors. All heads turned toward the distant entrance, and Harry could barely make out the blurry image of a figure moving into the chamber.

"No," Harry heard his mother say in a shocked whisper. "_No, no, no_ – not _him_; not _now_…."

"Harry," said a high, cold voice that sent a wave of terror through the room. "A pleasure, as always."

Footsteps echoed off the walls as Lord Voldemort strode close enough for Harry to see him clearly. Harry's fist clenched tightly around the Resurrection Stone.

"W-what are you doing here?" Harry blurted automatically.

Voldemort looked mildly surprised at Harry's unusual outburst.

"Has it been so long since our last meeting," Voldemort said coolly, "that you have forgotten why I bother to keep you here? My apologies, Harry – I will endeavor to be a much better host in the future."

Voldemort pulled the Elder Wand from his robes and surveyed it slowly in a teasing sort of way; this was how his terrible experiments on Harry often began.

"Harry," said Fred in a rushed voice, "Bill's almost got the wards open; just a little bit longer, mate…."

"We…we could show ourselves to Voldemort," James said to the room at large. "It might buy Harry some time…."

"No," said Dumbledore, grimly. "Lord Voldemort cannot learn of our presence; it would alarm him and reveal too much. If Harry is to escape, he must retain the element of surprise."

"You know," said Voldemort, completely unaware of the discussion that was taking place around him. "The human body really is quite amazing."

With a quick swish of Voldemort's wand, Harry's robes and shirt shredded into hundreds of tiny pieces that burned into ash as they fell toward the floor, leaving Harry in only his tattered old jeans. Harry heard gasps of surprise and, out of the corners of his eyes, saw movement around him as his family and friends reacted to the sudden violence.

Voldemort's red, slit eyes traveled over the many pale scars that his previous tests had left scattered across Harry's chest and arms.

"I can cut you," Voldemort went on, "burn you, blast you…but as long as a single spark of life is left inside of you, my stolen piece of soul remains perfectly safe." Voldemort sighed dramatically and shook his head. "Safe…and trapped."

Harry said nothing, but held Voldemort's gaze defiantly. _Come on_, he thought. _Come on, please – get those wards down_….

"Together," continued Voldemort, "you and I have explored heretofore-uncharted realms of magical theory, but alas, we have made little, if any, progress. Despite my unmatched magical skill and knowledge – and the fact that I possess the Elder Wand – I have begun to fear that retrieving what you took from me is impossible."

"But no matter, no matter," he added in a mockingly comforting tone, "Lord Voldemort is nothing if not resourceful. I have at last discovered _another_ way to ensure my immortality. I am afraid, Harry Potter, that your usefulness has neared its end."

Harry felt a rising panic as Voldemort glared at him with murder in his eyes. He knew that if Voldemort truly had found an alternative to keeping him alive, then Riddle would love nothing more than to finally kill his most hated enemy as painfully as possible.

"Fred, how much longer?" Harry heard his father ask in a fearful voice.

"A-any minute now," replied Fred, shakily.

Voldemort laughed.

"You should see the look on your face, Harry. Do not worry – I am not ready to kill you quite yet. Until my new plan is in place, I shall continue to keep you and my piece of soul safely tucked away. No, the real reason for my visit is to inform you that today is a _very_ special day. It appears that we will have visitors."

Harry's heart stopped. How could he know? He _couldn't_….

"Some of them are old school friends of yours, I believe," Voldemort continued, reveling in the effect this was having on Harry, who stood in shock. "They should be arriving any moment; I have sent my Death Eaters to welcome them. You have been alone here for quite some time, Harry – should we invite them to join us in our…games?"

"Oh my god," gasped Tonks.

Harry looked desperately at Dumbledore, and it unnerved him even more to find that the elder wizard looked thoroughly caught off-guard.

"They're…they're walking right into a trap," whispered Fred, sounding fearful. Nearly his entire family was about to be captured…or worse.

"N-no!" said Harry, turning back to face his captor. He was suddenly overcome with a hot wave of anger – he had been moments away from rejoining his friends; Voldemort _couldn't_ ruin it now…Harry wouldn't _let_ him.

"No?" repeated Voldemort, his lips curling. "But Harry, surely you are not so selfish as to keep our fun only to yourself?"

Harry ignored Voldemort's taunts. Trying his hardest to block out everything around him, Harry once again looked inward and found his magical core. Dumbledore had only given him basic lessons on Legilimency, and Harry still had no wand. But the one thing that he did have – in a greater amount than perhaps any other wizard – was raw power. With more of a wish than any real spell knowledge, Harry focused hard on the image of his best friend.

_Ron, it's a trap…Death Eaters…they're waiting for you...._

"AHHH!" Harry screamed as his attention was wrenched back to the chamber by a searing pain across his chest. He heard voices yelling all around him.

"You bastard!"

"Stay away from my son!"

"Harry! _Harry_!"

"You will answer your master when he addresses you, boy!" hissed Voldemort.

Harry looked from Voldemort's smoking wand to his own chest and saw a very long, rough cut across it that burned around its edges. Little drops of blood dotted the floor. Harry stumbled backward a couple of steps and caught himself.

He looked up and saw an expression of pure horror on his mother's face. Harry had never before allowed his parents to witness his time spent with Voldemort. He couldn't have stopped them had they insisted, but he didn't want to share this with them and after some convincing, they accepted his wishes. Harry didn't want them to have to see it now; he hated what this was doing to his mother.

Only Dumbledore had been present when Harry received his other scars, and the former headmaster presently remained silent, radiating a quiet fury that would surely make even Lord Voldemort cower if Dumbledore wasn't invisible to him.

Harry closed his eyes and focused on Ron again.

_It's a trap! Voldemort knows you're here! Go back! Go –_

Harry's attempted warning was once again cut short as he felt himself blasted through the air and into a wall, where he crumpled to the ground. Lights popped in front of his eyes and the side of his face felt warm and wet. Harry vaguely heard more shouts and words of concern, but they seemed far away. He gingerly pushed himself up to sit against the wall and felt a stabbing sensation in his lower back. Cracking his eyes open against the pain, Harry made out Voldemort's blurry image as it came closer.

"As you well know, Harry, there is much that I can do to you without killing you. I will ask my question once more and this time you _will_ answer Lord Voldemort, or suffer the consequences."

"Harry, just tell him what he wants to hear, _please_," Lily whimpered.

"He came down here to pick a fight, son," warned his father. "Don't take the bait."

"Harry!" shouted Fred, excitedly. "Ron's convinced the others to take a different route to the castle; says he's got a really bad feeling that things aren't right! Bill will have the wards open any second!"

Harry's heart leapt – his message must have gotten through! It appeared as if Ron had gotten the gist of it, at least.

"Wouldn't you like to entertain," continued Voldemort, "some guests down in this dungeon? Some new blood might freshen up our old routine, wouldn't you say?"

"What do you mean you've found a new way to become immortal?" Harry asked, ignoring Voldemort's question. With his friends hopefully out of immediate danger, Harry's thoughts had seized on Voldemort's cryptic comment from before. If Harry escaped – if he was to continue to work to destroy the Dark Lord – he would need to know what else he might be up against.

"All in due time, Harry," Voldemort said, an edge to his voice. "And you did not answer my question. _Crucio_!"

Despite having been a victim of the Cruciatus Curse more times than he could remember over the past year, Harry could still do nothing to brace himself against the curse's all-encompassing agony. The chamber, Voldemort, his parents, and the others – everything burned away, replaced by unrelenting white-hot pain.

After he felt the curse finally lift, it was several long moments before Harry's vision returned and he saw that his mother was kneeled before him, her anguished face mere inches from his. Her lips were moving as if she was screaming at him, but he could hear nothing over the dull buzz the pain had left in his ears. Harry dazedly looked around to see that his other semisolid supporters appeared to be yelling at him just as frantically.

The Elder Wand jerked Harry to his feet, and he fell against the wall for support. His mother stood beside him, still shouting, her eyes begging Harry to hear her and understand. As Voldemort pointed his wand threateningly under Harry's chin, his mother's screams finally reached him, muted but understandable.

"THE WARDS ARE DOWN! GET OUT OF HERE, HARRY! GET OUT _NOW_!"

Through a fog of pain that numbed his senses, Harry understood. But instead of acting on this news, he slowly looked from his mother's tearful green eyes to the red pair that now burned just inches from his own.

"W-what," Harry stuttered, his throat dry and rough. "What else…makes you i-immortal?"

"Harry, no!" cried Dumbledore. "He will not tell you; you _must_ leave! Now!"

The tip of Voldemort's wand began to burn against Harry's throat.

"I am going to enjoy this, Potter," he snarled. Voldemort's mocking tone from earlier had been replaced by one of cold fury.

Harry looked from Dumbledore to his father and mother, and then to the others – all of whose faces were filled with fear – before locking eyes with Voldemort.

"Not as much as me," Harry replied, and – dropping the Resurrection Stone behind his back – he Disapparated.

Harry felt the familiar uncomfortable feeling – it was as if he was being forced through a tight rubber tube – and a moment later his senses were assaulted: hard rain beat down on his exposed skin, the sky flashed, and thunder cracked loudly – a terrifying sound to someone who had lived in a deathly quiet chamber for over a year.

A storm was raging, making everything dark and disorienting – especially since Harry's vision was already so poor without his glasses. He knew that he had Apparated just outside of Hogwarts's main entrance, but everything around him appeared as a dark, grey blur. With a little luck, he managed to stumble across the muddy ground to rest against the castle wall beside the doors.

Harry leaned his shoulder against the wall and hunched over to rest his hands on his knees. Blocking out the lingering pain of Voldemort's attacks, he took a deep breath and focused inward once again. For a moment, Harry struggled against the roar of the storm to find his focus, but an instant later his skin glowed ever so slightly. The wound on his chest sealed and became faint, and Harry felt his other pains lessen until he was left with only a general ache across his body. As he healed, Harry felt his mind sharpen and his awareness begin to return in full. He suddenly noticed noises above the pounding of the rain.

"They're over by the forest, near the hut!" shouted a voice that Harry did not recognize.

"That's not where we were told they'd be!" yelled another.

Harry could hear a group of people – how many he could not be sure – running farther away from him amidst the intermittent thunder.

From the opposite direction, he could just make out the splashes of someone else running closer. Harry kneeled low to the ground and pressed his back against the wall, hoping that his position – with the added concealment of the dark storm – would keep him hidden. If only he had his glasses; if only he could see more than a few feet in front of him….

The squelching footfalls grew louder until a figure rushed past Harry, appearing not to have noticed him, and entered the school. As the person passed, Harry glimpsed his face as a flash of lightning lit it.

"George…?" Harry gasped.

Just then, Harry heard a second person run up and stop a good distance away. Harry squinted at the dark figure, which he heard growl, "This'll be one less Weasley to worry about…."

Harry recognized that the presumed Death Eater had his wand pointed through the castle's open doors at George's back. Instinctively, Harry threw out his arms and wandlessly cast a shield charm between the attacker and his unknowing victim, the force of which surprised Harry. Not only was the Death Eater's green beam of light deflected, but he was blasted high into the air, hit the ground hard, and remained still.

Harry knew that he had become a much more powerful wizard, but he hadn't been able to fully test his new abilities within the confined space of the Chamber of Secrets. He absently noted that he would have to take care to keep his magic in check, but gave the matter no further thought as he followed George into the castle.

Once inside the unsettling noise of the storm lessened greatly. Harry almost fell over as he slid to a stop on the polished stone floor; his bare feet were covered in mud. He pushed his soaked bangs out of his eyes and looked around for any sign of his longtime friend.

"George!" Harry called, but he did not see him. Instead, he heard the chatter and footsteps of what had to be hundreds of students rushing closer, and he managed to throw himself behind a nearby suit of armor just before a large group of them stampeded into the hall.

"What's going on?" asked a young boy that couldn't have been more than a second-year.

"Have they finally come to get us out of here?" asked another.

"Out of the way!" came an angry voice, as several masked Death Eaters violently pushed their way through the growing crowd to the entrance. "All of you brats get back to your common rooms, or you'll have the Carrows to deal with!"

As they reached the doors, the Death Eaters were met by one of their fellows as he rushed inside; his robes looked as though they had been partly burned.

"They're all over the place!" he said, sounding panicked. We're fighting them by the forest, by the lake, and we've got one of 'em trapped on top of the Astronomy Tower!"

"_Hermione_!" thought Harry, and without a second's hesitation, he Disapparated again.

He appeared atop the Astronomy Tower, beside the doorway that led to the stairs – the same spot where he had been forced to stand helplessly under his Invisibility Cloak while Dumbledore was killed in front of him.

A scream immediately tore Harry's attention to the far side of the roof, where he could discern several blurry black-robed Death Eaters closing in on another figure whose shimmering shield charm was flickering, showing signs of falling under a relentless barrage of spells. Squinting his eyes, Harry felt his stomach drop as he recognized a mass of bushy brown hair – Hermione was surrounded, with her back against the parapet, seconds away from being cursed.

Harry made to rush forward, but immediately stumbled as his foot kicked into something on the floor in front of him. Looking down, he felt another shock – Ron was lying at his feet, his face half covered in blood. From the position of Ron's body, it looked as if he had been attacked as he came through the door. Harry stood rigid with fear before he registered that Ron was groaning and slowly moving to push himself up – he was _alive_.

For a fraction of a second, Harry forgot everything but Ron, who seemed otherworldly somehow – a lost treasure from a past life – but then he heard a second, more terrible scream. Looking up, Harry watched in horror as Hermione toppled over the parapet and off the tower.

"NO!" he cried. It was Dumbledore's death all over again….

Without thinking, without feeling, Harry ran. His bare feet splashed across the flooded floor as he pushed himself desperately toward the spot that Hermione had fallen from, which was occupied by the Death Eaters that had converged on her. Harry's yell had caused a few of them to look in his direction, but before they had time to react, Harry let loose a primal, panicked scream and a shockwave blasted out from him, throwing the masked wizards from the tower. Harry moved at an incredible speed – in the span of just two frantic heartbeats he had crossed the rooftop, reached the edge, and recklessly dove over it.

Harry was nearly paralyzed by fear as he began to fall, but a rush of adrenaline kept his eyes moving. Squinting against the rushing air, he frantically looked for Hermione but could make out only the billowing robes of the falling Death Eaters directly beneath him.

Narrowing his body into a sharp dive, Harry focused on the nearest Death Eater and shouted "_Accio_!" The flailing body was partly drawn toward Harry, and he was partly drawn toward it. They met in the blink of an eye and Harry pushed past the figure, clearing the way for a better view; but still, he could not see Hermione.

Harry quickly cast a summoning charm on the next closest Death Eater below him, and then the next, pulling himself faster and faster toward the rapidly approaching ground, until he finally saw her. "_Accio Hermione_!" Harry screamed, and he plummeted still faster, the wind roaring in his ears.

As Harry closed the distance between them, Hermione's blurry form came within focus as she entered the range of his limited eyesight. She was falling backwards, and her face – whipped by thick strands of brown hair – showed absolute shock. Not at falling, not because she was seconds from instant death; she appeared to have forgotten those problems for the moment. Her wide eyes were locked onto Harry. Over her shoulder, Harry could see the ground speeding forward much too fast; they had maybe three seconds. He stretched out an arm and willed himself to reach Hermione in time. Two seconds – his fingers clawed to within an inch of her trailing robes – one….

Harry's hand clenched Hermione's robes and he Disapparated with her, reappearing on the ground just feet below, cancelling out their momentum entirely. They stumbled to the muddy earth unharmed, and a moment later, Harry heard the sickening thuds of the falling Death Eaters as they crashed all around him.

Harry pushed himself to his knees and pulled Hermione up to rest in his arms. He absently realized that he held a solid, living person after spending months in the company of people that were little more than ghosts, and despite his terror at the situation, a part of him thrilled at the touch. Hermione's bewildered gaze found Harry's eyes again and her blank, fearful expression sent a fresh wave of panic through him.

"Hermione!" yelled Harry, against a bone-rattling crack of thunder. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?" Now that he held her close, Harry could discern several cuts across her face and scarlet patches of blood in her hair. "Hermione," he repeated, this time in a whisper. She continued to stare at him as if in shock or terror. She hadn't blinked, and didn't appear to breathe. "_Please_, say that you're okay," Harry choked. He had _saved_ her, she couldn't…she couldn't be….

A jet of green light missed Harry's head by inches and struck the tower wall behind him. He instinctively released Hermione and rolled to the side and, as he did so, felt a familiar shape press against his bare skin from the ground. Harry reached down and, for the first time in over a year, clutched a wand in his hand.

"_Expelliarmus_!" he cried, swinging blindly in the direction the attack had come from. There was an ear-splitting _boom_ as the spell erupted from the wand, which kicked back with such force that his arm was nearly broken. Harry thought he heard a cry of pain carry into the distance, but he could not see any trace of whoever had fired at him.

The spell had never been so powerful before…. But, Harry thought, he had become a different kind of wizard since he last used a wand. He looked reverently at the wand in his hand and recognized it as Hermione's.

Harry suddenly realized that fighting was now taking place all around him. He could hear shouts and spells being cast in every direction, and flares of green and red had joined the flashes of lightning in randomly illuminating the darkening Hogwarts grounds. Harry turned back to Hermione, whom he was relieved to find standing. Her face was still stark white as she looked at him, however, and she was slowly backing away from him as if in fear. Harry walked quickly to her.

"Stay b-back!" said Hermione in a quiet, breathless voice as she jerked away from Harry's outstretched hand. Her eyes darted between his face and the wand he held.

"Hermione, it's not safe here," said Harry. The sound of battle echoed all around them between rolls of thunder. Harry put the wand into the back pocket of his jeans and held up his hands in an attempt to seem as non-threatening as possible. Hermione continued to back away as he slowly advanced; her unblinking stare remained fixed on Harry and she began to shake her head.

Suddenly a deafening _crack_ rent the air – whether from a spell or thunder Harry did not know – which startled Hermione and distracted her for the briefest moment. Harry seized the opportunity; he dashed forward, caught her arm, and Disapparated with her back to the top of the Astronomy Tower.

The moment they reappeared, Hermione pushed away from Harry and hastened to put space between them. Harry didn't try to stop her as he quickly scanned the rooftop for Ron, who was no longer there.

"W-what is this?" shouted Hermione, her voice much louder than before but sounding thoroughly panicked.

"It's okay," Harry said softly, holding up his hands again. "It's me, Harry. Really. I'm not going to hurt you. Here," he pulled Hermione's wand from his back pocket, held it up for her to see, and tossed it to her. She fumbled the catch and hurriedly snatched it from the floor, still without taking her eyes off Harry. Gripping her wand with both of her shaking hands, she leveled it at him.

"Who _are_ you?" she demanded. "How did you…. Why did you…."

"Hermione, I know this is probably hard to believe, but I _really am_ Harry. I've been a prisoner here, in the Chamber of Secrets, for over a year. Look, we've got to –"

"You're lying," Hermione interrupted. "Harry Potter is _dead_; I buried his body," her face twisted as she spoke. "You are…this is…some kind of _trick_…."

From somewhere in the distance, Harry heard a cry of pain. He had no way of knowing whether it belonged to a friend or an enemy.

"Listen, Hermione," said Harry, his hands still raised. "There's a war going on down there. We've got to get everyone together and get out of here. How much time do we have left?" He raised his arm to mime reading a watch.

Hermione finally blinked, and then slowly dragged her gaze to her wristwatch.

"Oh god…we've only got about eight minutes…."

"Okay," Harry said, trying to sound calm despite the hammering in his chest. "You need to Disapparate to the Burrow _right now_; I'll make sure that everyone else gets out before the wards go back up. Now, Ron was up here a minute ago, but I don't know where he went…."

"Ron?" Hermione repeated in a high voice. She appeared to have only heard Ron's name. "Where is he? What have you done with him?" Her trembling hands raised her wand slightly; it now aimed directly between Harry's eyes.

"I just told you," Harry said through gritted teeth, "I don't _know_ where he is. We've got to find him – _all_ of them – and get out! Hermione _please_, we're almost out of time!"

Hermione seemed to be on the verge of hexing him, causing Harry to groan in frustration and summon her wand back to him. She stumbled forward as it slipped from her grasp, and this unusual display of wordless, wandless magic caused her to look even more alarmed than before.

"Look," Harry shouted, stomping toward her. "We met on the Hogwarts Express before our first year; you spend way too much time in the library; you went to the Yule Ball with Victor Krum; you're terrible on a broom; and your greatest ambitions are to free house-elves and snog Ron – and you finally did that last one, actually, the last time I saw you."

Harry now stood directly in front of Hermione. He grasped her shoulders and stared into her eyes, pleadingly.

"I can recount our entire history together once we're out of here, but _please_ Hermione, you've _got_ to tell me where the others are supposed to be. I saw George enter the castle…."

Hermione stepped away from Harry's touch and eyed him warily. A couple of moments stretched by and he was on the verge of just leaving when she finally spoke.

"O-okay," she said, hesitantly. "Okay. I don't know…_what_…this is," she gestured at Harry, "but you're right – we can't stay here."

"Thank you," Harry said, exasperated. He handed her back her wand. "Now where is Ron supposed to be?"

"He," Hermione paused for a moment and seemed to reconsider before she continued. "The headmaster's office. He was supposed to go there. He came to find me when the fighting began, but after he left, that might be where he went."

"Okay then," said Harry. "Get out of here and I'll go get him." Harry straightened and prepared to Disapparate. But a split-second before he vanished, he felt a hand wrap tightly around his wrist.

A soft pop accompanied Harry's arrival inside the headmaster's office. Hermione stood before him, clutching his wrist and staring questioningly into his eyes.

"I thought I told you to –"

But Harry's words came to an abrupt halt when he heard sounds of battle coming from beyond the office door. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed Hermione's arm and prepared to Disapparate once again.

"He's not here – let's go."

"Wait," said Hermione, and she pulled Harry's hand from her. She pushed past him, pointed her wand at the opposite end of the room and called, "_Accio Sorting Hat_!" The brown, worn hat flopped about as it flew across the room and into her waiting hands.

Hermione gave Harry a suspicious look, as if trying to gauge his reaction to her taking the hat. When he made no movement and spoke no words in return, she moved to the ornate frames that hung on the wall behind the desk that, Harry knew, usually contained the portraits of Hogwarts' former headmasters and headmistresses. At the moment, however, the pictures were all empty. Their occupants, Harry was sure, had moved to other frames throughout the castle to watch the battle.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, when Hermione placed the Sorting Hat on the desk and attempted to pry the largest of the picture frames from the wall. She didn't respond. When the frame wouldn't budge, she stepped back and cast a spell at it, but nothing happened.

"Hermione, we have to go! _You_ have to go! There's no time for this!"

"We came for _this_, too," she replied, once again gripping the frame that still would not move.

Suddenly realizing what she was after – for Fred had relayed this part of the plan to him – Harry ran forward and pulled her away from the wall.

"Dumbledore's portrait won't help us," he said. "Trust me, Hermione – he can't tell us anything I don't already know." Hermione, of course, didn't know just how true this was, that Harry had spent a year conversing with his former headmaster, but there was no time for a full explanation. Grabbing her tightly by the wrist, he forcibly pulled her across the room to the door, grabbing the Sorting Hat from the desk as they went.

"Ron could be out there," he told her, and he saw Hermione's eyes widen as she considered the possibility. The loud crashes from beyond the door had stopped; was the fight over? Had someone fallen? Hermione took a deep breath, nodded once at Harry, and he opened the door. Together, they ran down the spiral staircase – which began to move as they descended – to the seventh-floor corridor. Harry jumped the last few steps and emerged into the hallway to find it deserted; even the gargoyle that usually guarded the stairs was missing. There were deep gashes scattered across the stone floor with entire chunks missing in some places, along with what looked like scorch marks. What had happened here?

Harry heard Hermione take a sharp breath and then he saw it, too – someone was lying motionless on the floor just a few feet away…someone with red hair. Simultaneously, they rushed to kneel beside the body.

"George!" gasped Hermione as she leaned over him to examine his face. George lay amongst rubble, his robes torn and stained with blood. But just as Harry began to feel the icy stab of fear for his friend, George shifted and moaned in pain. His eyes looked up at Hermione, and he tried to speak.

"Mm…mmm…."

"Don't try to move, George," soothed Hermione, taking one of his hands in both of her own. "I'll get you out of here –"

"Mm…McGon…aglll…."

"What was that?" Harry asked. "George, did you just say 'McGonagall?'"

A grunt was George's only response as he squeezed his eyes shut and continued to shift on the floor. Just then, Harry recognized a piece of parchment lying flat on the ground next to George. Squinting at the Marauder's Map as he bent lower for a closer look, Harry saw upon it a black dot marked with his name, dots for George and Hermione, and one other speeding toward them that was labeled…."

In a blur, Harry stood, turned, and – spotting a wand that whipped through the air in his direction – cast a shield charm to protect himself and his friends from Minerva McGonagall. A rush of gold flames swept over the shield's glimmering surface in every direction, and for several moments Harry fought to maintain the protective wall against the relentless stream of fire. The heat was becoming unbearable, but Harry struggled to strengthen his shield, to extend it.

McGonagall had to be under the Imperius curse; there was no other explanation. Harry didn't want to hurt her, assuming that he even could – she was an extraordinarily powerful witch. He needed a minute to think….

"Behind you!" cried Hermione, and Harry looked over his shoulder to see that the flames, which had arced across his shield and past all of them, had curved back toward them and were changing into flying shards of glass as they flew.

Quickly remembering a transfiguration spell of his own, Harry shouted the incantation that Dumbledore had taught him and the glass became water that showered Hermione and George. The flames coming from in front of Harry ceased, and he looked back to the spot where McGonagall had stood to find her gone.

"_Stupefy_!" shouted Hermione, and Harry's eyes followed her jet of red light as it barely missed their former professor, who had moved surprisingly fast across the hallway. Harry ran toward McGonagall hoping to draw her fire from Hermione, who still knelt by a defenseless George. As soon as he passed his friends, Harry replicated the blasting hex he had unintentionally used against the Death Eaters atop the tower, but McGonagall put up a shield in time to block it. The raw power of Harry's spell, however, sent her staggering backwards – she had been forced on the defensive, and Harry pressed his advantage.

He prepared a follow-up spell as he ran forward, and as he came closer to her, Harry could see that something was indeed terribly wrong with Minerva McGonagall. Her eyes were vacant, nearly completely white, and showed no recognition of her former student.

Harry hesitated for just a moment, and McGonagall's wand quickly weaved a complicated pattern. He felt the area around him suddenly become very cold, and jagged chunks of ice solidified out of the air. Hundreds of them hung frozen all around Harry, their pointed edges aimed inward at him. Harry Disapparated as they shot forward, as one, toward their target. He did not escape unscathed, however. Reappearing next to Hermione, Harry fell to the floor, splattering blood on the stone, with a dozen razor-sharp shards stuck in his exposed flesh. It was agony to rival even Voldemort's torture, but due to the months Harry had spent enduring such pain, he was able to think through it. He could faintly hear Hermione calling to him, as if from the opposite end of a long tunnel, and sensed her moving near.

"S-stay back," Harry choked, as a thin strand of blood stretched from his lip to the floor. Focusing his inner magic as Dumbledore had instructed, Harry made his skin glow with a burst of incredible heat, and in the instant the spell lasted, the ice evaporated into steam, leaving empty gashes across his upper body. Harry pushed his magic harder, and his wounds quickly sealed into small cuts.

His remaining pains now manageable, Harry sat up to find Hermione kneeling with her back to him, her wand gripped in both of her shaking hands as she fought to maintain a shield charm against a barrage of various curses.

"I'll handle her," shouted Harry against the din of spells clashing against Hermione's shield. "You've got to get George out of here; he can't escape on his own!"

Hermione said nothing, but kept her full attention focused on maintaining her defense. Harry placed a hand on her shoulder and yelled, "On three, I'll cast a shield and take over! One…two…_three_!"

Without waiting for any sign from Hermione, Harry cast his own shield and moved it forward with him as he pushed in front of her. The moment his protective barrier passed hers, he felt it begin to absorb the impact of McGonagall's rapid-fire volley of curses.

"Now GO!" commanded Harry as he turned back to look at Hermione. "Don't let George die!" he added, in a desperate attempt to force her to flee.

With her eyes locked on Harry's, Hermione reached back to grasp George's arm, and – with a look of anguish – Disapparated with him.

A loud, deep rumble snapped Harry's full attention back to the fight. Harry couldn't tell what was making the noise as he watched McGonagall break off her torrent of spells, step behind her own hastily cast shield, and watch him with those empty eyes as if waiting for something.

And then the world turned upside down, and Harry was flying, falling, spinning end over end, until he smacked hard into the ground. His entire right side felt crushed. He heard the loud rumble become a grinding noise and looked up to see the previously missing stone gargoyle – now fully animated – skidding to a halt after having run him over.

There was no time for Harry to heal his new wounds as the gargoyle turned and charged back for a second pass. Harry shrieked in agony as he forced his broken body to stand, and only just made it to his feet before the galloping statue reached him. Throwing his hands forward in a gesture of both attack and defense, Harry shouted "_Reducto_!"

The curse hit the gargoyle a second before it would have smashed back into Harry, and the enormous strength of the spell pulverized the statue to a degree beyond rubble or even pebbles – only a thick cloud of fine dust remained. For an instant the powdered stone filled the area, totally obscuring Harry from McGonagall. Realizing that his attack window would close in a heartbeat, Harry launched off his good left leg and stumbled through the cloud to stand nose-to-nose with the professor.

"_Imperio_!" he bellowed, and although it sickened him to do so, Harry wrested control of his head of house from the unknown Death Eater that had previously cursed her. She stood motionless before him, wand arm dropped to her side, awaiting his command. Harry's spell had worked completely; he could feel total dominance with no hint of resistance. Reassuring himself that it was for her safety, Harry gave his orders.

"Disapparate to the Burrow, just outside of the protective charms…you know where that is, right?" McGonagall nodded. "Good. Do _not_ attack the Weasleys or anyone else that might be there. Just wait for them to come to you, and do whatever they ask. Do you understand?" She nodded once more. "Okay – now _go_!" McGonagall obeyed.

Alone again, Harry took a second to rush through yet another healing spell. It wasn't his best work, and he could sense that his constant injuries were wearing down the effectiveness of the magic. He found that he limped slightly as he hastened to where the Sorting Hat lay, having been dropped and forgotten in the midst of the action. He snatched it up, along with the nearby Marauder's Map, and paused to consider his next move.

Without Hermione and her wristwatch, Harry had no way of knowing exactly how much longer the wards would be open. There couldn't be much time left – a couple of minutes at most. He was desperate to finally make his escape and avoid the unthinkable possibility of recapture, but he couldn't risk leaving any of his friends behind. Before going to the Burrow, Harry would use every second he could risk to ensure that everyone made it out.

He guessed that there was time enough to check one more area – but where? The towers overlooked much of the grounds, but without his glasses, the view would do Harry no good. With every breath ticking off another valuable second, Harry made a snap decision to return to the castle entrance, which had been at the center of the battle only minutes ago. Without knowing what dangers he might Apparate into, he pocketed the map, gripped the Sorting hat, and turned on the spot.

As before, Harry flinched at the sudden rush of rain and rolling thunder as his bare feet slammed into the mushy earth before the castle's front steps. The ferocity of the storm was still building, and he felt hopeless as his hearing, along with his vision, was nearly canceled out.

But then, a miracle: Harry heard a voice cry out over the noise, the voice of the precise person he had been searching for.

"BILL!" Ron called as he ran past, just a few feet from where Harry stood. Harry could only make out a dark gray form as Ron splashed by, and if he hadn't heard his best friend speak, he would have had no idea who the runner was. Harry charged after Ron, whose longer legs carried him faster than Harry could keep up.

"BILL!" Ron yelled again, and this time, Harry heard a reply.

"N-no, Ron – g-go! NOW!"

Without warning, Ron slid to a halt in the mud and raised his wand before him. Harry managed to stop just behind him, unnoticed, inches away from running him over.

"WHERE IS HE?!" came another voice, icy cold and raw with anger. As a staggering wave of panic shot through him, Harry looked past Ron and could barely discern the imposing figure of Lord Voldemort standing before Bill, who hung in the air, writhing in apparent pain.

Instinctively, Harry Apparated to a nearby castle wall where he could crouch in deeper shadow. His captor's abrupt appearance had shaken him, and a voice inside Harry – born of months of torment – screamed at him to flee, to seize this last, best chance to escape. As he fought to master his emotions, Harry searched the scene before him for a way to Disapparate with Ron and Bill before Voldemort could stop them. As he focused on the hazy shapes, he realized with a shock that Nagini, Voldemort's great snake and Horcrux, was draped over its master's shoulders.

Riddle had never brought the snake with him into the Chamber of Secrets, for he knew that Harry would risk anything to destroy it. Harry had guessed, however, that Voldemort always kept Nagini close by since he could not be sure that Harry hadn't revealed it as a Horcrux to others.

Harry's previous urge to run was replaced by an impulse to attack, to destroy the serpent and finally leave himself as Riddle's last remaining link to immortality. His hand unconsciously began to reach inside of the Sorting Hat, his fingers feeling for a hilt…but Harry knew that he would have no chance against Riddle at that moment. Despite his expanded powers, Harry was empty-handed while Voldemort held the Elder Wand. Harry could hardly see in the storm, and his friends were in grave danger. His friends…they had to come first.

"_Sectumsempra_!" shouted Ron, but Voldemort easily deflected the spell and turned his attention to his new attacker. Bill was dropped to the ground and did not move. Voldemort slashed his wand through the air with inhuman speed, and Ron crumpled to the ground with a gurgle.

"No…." Harry whispered. It had all happened too fast for him to act. He prepared to run at Voldemort, but his mind still frantically sought a plan, or even a single useful maneuver. When Voldemort began to step toward Ron's defenseless form, however, Harry decided that he could not wait any longer.

But then a Death Eater entered the scene, a squat, lumpy-looking wizard, wheezing as he ran. He fell to his knees before his master and, as he spoke between great gasps of breath, Harry recognized the voice of Amycus Carrow.

"M-master…we cannot…f-find…any more…of them." Amycus paused to draw in a deeper breath, and Voldemort looked down upon him disdainfully. "W-we believe that…the rest have…have…g-gone."

"Leave me," hissed Voldemort, his voice sharp with rage. Amycus did as he was ordered, and when he had run far away, Riddle turned his attention back to Ron who lay just a few feet from him.

"I know you, Ronald Weasley," came the killer's voice. "You are his friend; you came here to rescue him, did you not? Where is he now? TELL ME!"

Ron's face showed that he did not comprehend the question, and his reply was weak and strained as he struggled to push up from the mud.

"I d-don't…wh-what…?"

Voldemort appeared to be in no mood to discuss the matter further; in fact, Harry had never seen him so agitated. With a growl of impatience, he took a step back and trained his wand on Ron's prone form.

Inspiration hit, and Harry suddenly knew what he had to do. The timing would have to be perfect….

Ron pushed himself up on his elbows and tried to crawl away from Voldemort, who then spoke the word that Harry was braced to hear.

"_Avada_ –"

Without pausing to fully consider his rash action, Harry Disapparated and instantly reappeared between Voldemort and his intended victim. In that flicker of a moment, Harry dropped the Sorting Hat, stood tall, and stared defiantly into the dark wizard's snakelike eyes, ready for death.

"–_Kedavra_!"

Voldemort's eyes flew wide with shock, but he could not stop the spell from being cast. With the sharp reflexes of a snake, however, he managed to swing his wand wide of its mark, and the jet of green death singed Harry's hair as it fired past him.

For a heartbeat, Harry and Voldemort stared at each other, transfixed. Harry's frantic inner voice snapped him back to attention first, and he Disapparated before his enemy could stop him. Upon returning to his hiding place by the wall, Harry heard a scream echo over the grounds that chilled him to the bone.

Without seeing Harry, Ron had spotted the hat lying inches from his face in the mud, pulled the sword from its hidden depths, and swung it as he stood and spun toward his target. The blade arced across the space that Harry had occupied a split-second before and cleaved Nagini in two, with the swing's follow-through lodging the sword firmly in Voldemort's shoulder.

Nagini was dead; the Horcrux destroyed.

Ron jerked the sword free and stumbled backward while the two halves of the snake slid from their perch and thudded to the ground. Riddle fell to his knees before the remains of the great snake, seemingly overcome by the loss of his Horcrux and the only living thing he had ever been close to. As he took in the image of his ruined Nagini, Voldemort began to shake violently.

Just then, Bill rushed to Ron's side and grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Come on!"

"Wait!" Ron replied, working to free himself from his brother's grip. "There are no more Horcruxes – it's just him and us!"

Momentarily distracted by each other, neither Weasley noticed what Harry saw, that Voldemort had turned his murderous glare to them. Harry was able to place a shield charm between Riddle and his targets before the curse was cast, but so great was the Dark Lord's fury that Harry could only lessen the brunt of the spell's impact. The remaining shockwave flung Ron and Bill through the air like ragdolls and they landed hard in the mud several yards away. Before Voldemort could follow his attack with another, however, his prey vanished.

Voldemort's roar of anger boomed over the storm as Harry let loose a breath in relief – his friends had Disapparated, he was sure, to the Burrow. And now, finally, Harry could follow them. He straightened up, focused on his destination, and – he felt a hand touch his arm.

Harry leapt back and had a blasting hex halfway cast before he saw her – Hermione had returned.

"_What_ –"

"_Shhh_!" she cautioned, her finger pressed over her lips. She pointed at Voldemort, who began to walk off in the direction Amycus had gone.

"I watched from those trees," Hermione whispered, and she gestured to a point beyond the spot where Ron and Bill had Disapparated. "I cast a shield on Ron when Voldemort tried to use the Killing Curse, but…." She paused, and her face displayed a curious expression, as if she was trying to work out the answer to a difficult question. "You tried to take the curse yourself…to die…why?"

"Later," said Harry. "Get out of here!"

"I'm not letting you out of my sight," she replied.

Harry grabbed Hermione's arm. "Fine, together then."

He gripped her tightly, turned on the spot, and….

Nothing.

Harry's heart stopped, frozen in fear. He reached out with his magic to confirm what he knew must be true. Turning to Hermione, he could see his own panicked expression reflected in her widening eyes.

"The wards," he told her in a faint voice, "they're back."

Hermione's mouth fell open in horror. She stood up straight and tested the wards herself.

"I…I can't…. Oh God…."

Harry felt sick as the full weight of the situation crashed over him.

After a year of suffering, waiting, training, and scheming, he had missed his chance to escape. And even worse, Hermione was now trapped with him. Unlike Harry, who was bound to a piece of Voldemort's soul, the Death Eaters would have no reason to keep her alive. She would be tortured for information on the Order, and then….

No.

"NO!" Harry cried. "_Come on_!"

He grabbed Hermione's hand and ran in the direction opposite to where Voldemort had gone. She kept pace with him as he blindly splashed across the grounds with no thought of where he was going or what he might do. Harry's mind no longer worked; he moved on instinct alone. A panic the likes of which he hadn't felt since he first woke in the Chamber of Secrets pushed him forward. He could hear Hermione's quick, labored breaths beside him as they charged into the dark and the rain.

Harry heard undecipherable shouts above the storm, coming from somewhere behind them. Had they been spotted? The storm blocked out what little light the day might have had left, and Harry's vision was terrible, anyway – Death Eaters could be right on top of them and he wouldn't know. Harry squeezed Hermione's hand tighter and pushed himself harder, half dragging her with him as he ran even faster.

"We c-can't leave the grounds on foot," Hermione panted. "The Death Eaters have p-put new charms around the perimeter…to keep the students l-locked in."

A bolt of lightning flashed so near to them that Harry pulled up short, causing Hermione to run into him and almost knock them both to the ground.

"There!" yelled a voice from somewhere to Harry's left. "There's more of 'em over by the Quidditch pitch!" The lightning must have given away their location. Other voices responded from all around them, giving Harry the impression that their pursuers were just moments away from closing in.

"H-Harry," choked Hermione, and he registered her first use of his name as he looked at her. Her entire body was shaking as she stared back at him, her expression resigned to the worst. Something about seeing her like this – so vulnerable, so hopeless – spun up Harry's mind again, and it seized upon the thing that had come to his aid countless times before: a broom. Their pursuer had said they were near the Quidditch pitch, which meant that they were also close to the changing rooms and the store of school broomsticks.

"_Accio broom_!" yelled Harry, waving a hand in the direction he guessed them to be. He heard a door knock open and, seconds later, caught a broomstick as it sped to him.

"_Protego_!" shouted Hermione, and Harry turned just in time to see a jet of red light stop mere feet from his face as it hit Hermione's hastily cast shield charm.

"Where –"

"There!" directed Hermione, pointing out their rapidly approaching attacker. "He's not alone!"

"Get on!" said Harry as he mounted the broom. Hermione quickly sat behind him, wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, and they sped away, narrowly avoiding several more blasts of red light.

As they climbed above the nearby tree line, Harry realized a new problem: being effectively blind on the ground was bad, but flying at top speed, high in the air, in the middle of a storm, was suicide.

"Hermione!" Harry called over his shoulder. "I can't see five feet in front of me; you're going to have to tell me where I'm going! Which way is Hogsmead?"

"T-that way, I think," she replied, pulling one arm free from Harry and pointing to their right.

"Hold on tight," he said, and turned the broom in the direction she had indicated. They shot forward at full speed, and Harry had to fight against the howling wind to stay on course. Curses of various colors began to shoot by all around them, cast by attackers Harry had no hope of seeing in the dark, distant grounds. Hermione screamed as Harry pushed them into a steep dive, swerving as he did so, calling on his rusty Seeker skills to avoid the crisscrossing curses.

"We're nearly there!" shouted Hermione. "The grounds end just ahead!"

The jets of light stopped coming as Harry flew them closer to Hogwarts' outskirts, away from where the Death Eaters had gathered. But then, so abruptly that Harry nearly fell, the broom spun around of its own accord to take them back in the direction they had come from. He felt Hermione slip halfway off the broom handle behind him, and he slowed to a stop in midair to help her back on.

"What – why did you turn?" Hermione gasped as she pulled on Harry's arm to right herself.

"I didn't do anything! The broom just…just turned on its own!"

Hermione thought for a moment, then looked helplessly into Harry's eyes.

"I…I was afraid of this," she said in a voice barely audible over the downpour. "The new perimeter charms…they aren't just on the ground; they reach into the air around the castle, too."

"How high do they go?"

"I-I'm not certain, but…I don't think this kind of magic works like the anti-Apparition wards – those are more like a…a dome…a bubble that doesn't just go around the castle, but over it, too. If we go higher, we may be able to fly over them."

Harry could see no other option. He spun back around to face the invisible barrier and prepared to climb higher to search for its limit.

Suddenly, Hermione shrieked and pointed to their left where Harry could just make out a dark mass moving toward them in the air. "They're on brooms!" Hermione shouted. "A bunch of them!" Looking to the right, Harry saw a similar-sized group rapidly approaching from the opposite side. They were caught in the middle, the only open path leading behind them, back to Hogwarts.

Harry spun around and lunged forward, quickly propelling the broom to top speed, climbing higher as he did so.

"They're right behind us!" yelled Hermione, but Harry did not turn to look. He flattened himself as low to the broom as possible without disengaging Hermione's arms from his waist.

"Lean forward Hermione, as much as you can!"

Harry felt her press tightly into his back, but their speed improved only slightly. What he wouldn't give for his old Firebolt; he hadn't flown one of the old school brooms since his first year at Hogwarts.

"More of them," pointed Hermione. "Ahead on the left, and to the right, and – oh God, we're surrounded!"

Harry's reflexes took over and he jerked back on the broom handle to fly directly upward. Hermione screeched in terror as her legs fell loose and dangled behind them, her arms the only thing holding her to Harry and the broom as they rocketed skyward. Harry's fingers began to slip from the handle as her full weight threatened to break his grip. He couldn't slow his ascent without the Death Eaters catching them, but at this speed, Hermione could lose her hold on him and fall to her death at any moment.

"Don't let go!" he called back to her. "I'll get you!"

While still speeding upward, Harry felt around the base of the upright broom with his left leg until he found a tentative foothold at the bulge where its bristles met its handle. Once the position felt secure, he unwrapped his other leg from the handle and began to lower it as well. Suddenly, however, his foot slipped from the bristles and he slid down the broom, taking Hermione with him, who let loose another startled scream. Harry managed to keep both hands wrapped around the handle as he fell, and he threw his legs around the bottom of the broom and came to a stop on top of the bristles, as if he was sitting on them. With his full-body grip of the broom tighter than before, he hooked one arm around the handle and freed the other to reach back around for Hermione. As he looked down to grab her, Harry caught a final glimpse of the mass he knew was the school below him as it faded completely from view.

"Come on," he yelled. "I'll help pull you up, and you can grab the handle!" Hermione threw an arm up to grip his shoulder, and Harry quickly reached his free hand under it to help her climb higher on his back. It took all of his strength to keep hold of both Hermione and the broom, but he soon helped her move into a position mirroring his; she settled herself on his lap and wrapped both her legs and arms around him. Harry returned both hands to the handle, which divided them with a perfectly vertical line.

Hermione looked down and sucked in a panicked breath. Harry followed her shocked stare to find a perfect circle of blurry black figures – there had to be around fifty of them – directly below. The circle was wide, ensuring that Harry would be easily caught if he veered off in any other direction but straight up. Strangely, their pursuers were no longer firing spells – why had they stopped?

Against the panic that threatened to consume him, Harry worked to focus his magic enough to feel for the wards that kept him trapped. If they had flown above the reach of the outer barrier, they just had to break through the top of the anti-Apparition dome.

"We still can't Disapparate," he yelled. "How high could the wards go?"

"I don't –"

But Hermione's reply was silenced by a deafening voice that cracked like thunder; it drowned out the dull roar of the storm and seemed to come from everywhere at once.

"LEAVE HIM TO ME – HE IS _MINE_!"

Harry chanced another look down and, with a shock of horror, he understood why the Death Eaters held their fire. Lord Voldemort was flying up toward him like smoke on the wind, rising through the middle of his Death Eaters' circle, outrunning his followers to gain on Harry at an alarming pace.

Voldemort pointed his wand and bellowed "_ACCIO BROOM_," but Harry was ready for him. Reflexively, faster than if he'd used a wand, Harry cast a shield charm that kept he and Hermione from being dragged down.

Still, Voldemort would reach them in seconds, and they had no options left. Harry crushed his eyes closed and reached out as far as he could with his magic, desperately feeling for any sign of the wards' boundary. Hermione screamed, but Harry did not break his concentration. He thought he could sense something…something close….

"He's almost got us! Harry! HARRY!"

"_THERE_!" Harry shouted.

Hermione screamed again and Harry snapped his eyes open to find Voldemort mere feet below them, stretching an arm up toward their broom.

"_MINE_!" the thunderous voice cracked across the sky.

"Hermione," Harry yelled, "let go of the broom!"

"WHAT?!"

"Do it, NOW!"

Voldemort's fist crunched around their broom's trailing twigs.

"NOW!" Harry repeated, and he pushed Hermione from the broom as he kicked himself away. Their momentum continued to carry them higher while Voldemort jerked the broom down toward him.

"_ACCIO_!" bellowed Harry, quickly followed by "_CONFRINGO_!"

Hermione shrieked as she was jerked through the air back toward Harry while, below them, their broom exploded in front of Voldemort. The massive blast expanded toward the Death Eaters, toward Harry and Hermione, and nearly engulfed them before Harry caught her in his arms, spun in the air, and Disapparated.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Next:

The Order's raid on Hogwarts sends shockwaves through the wizarding world as Hermione seeks the truth behind her rescuer's identity. After Harry's death drove her away, could he have really returned? And if so, who is buried in Harry's grave?

Coming soon, the fifth chapter of _The World I Leave Behind_, "Truth and Consequences."

"He said his message was for Ginny."

"That one was for Harry."

"I'LL KILL THEM!"

"W-we have to get him out of here."

"Voldemort has responded to our attack."

"That's what I've been waiting to hear."

"Stay."


	6. Chapter Five: Truth and Consequences

Always quick to speak her mind and first to raise her hand in class, Hermione Granger had rarely been at a loss for words. But as she stood in a wide, twilit field – working to catch her breath and slow her pounding heart – she had no clue what to say, or even what to think. She stared in disbelief at the remote location's only other inhabitant, who – despite the well-defined muscles on his bare, multi-scarred chest, his lack of glasses, and his muddied, bloodied appearance – looked unquestionably like her best friend…whom she had found murdered over a year ago.

**The World I Leave Behind**  
Chapter Five: Truth and Consequences

"Wh…why did you…bring us here?" gasped the would-be Harry between rapid breaths. He was hunched over with his hands on the knees of his torn jeans, and – like Hermione – was soaked to the bone. "I Apparated us to the Burrow," he continued. "But just as it came into view, you pulled us here instead."

Hermione observed him shrewdly, checking his every tiny movement and slight change in facial expression, searching for the imperfection that would prove he was an imposter. But all she could find were Harry's confused look, Harry's lightning-shaped scar, and Harry's emerald green eyes, which stared back at her with seemingly genuine bewilderment.

"Do you know where we are?" asked Hermione in a carefully measured tone. She had to control her emotions; she could not let this…this…_whoever_ he was cause her to drop her guard. It was impossible to think that Harry could…could be….

"Isn't this…where the Quidditch World Cup was held?" he answered, passing her impromptu test. "Where we camped while we looked for Horcruxes? Oh, that reminds me…."

He began to walk around the area and cast spells, the same protection and concealment charms that Hermione, Ron, and the real Harry had used to stay hidden during the months they spent camping on hilltops and mountainsides. As before, during their escape from Hogwarts, he cast his spells without a wand or words.

"They shouldn't be able to find us," he said, "as long as we don't say his name and trigger the Taboo, but I'm not taking any chances."

"How do you _do_ that?" said Hermione incredulously, her academic curiosity temporarily overriding the mystery of his identity.

"It's a long story…." His words trailed off as he turned to look at her again. "Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?"

"No," she responded, and then for several moments he simply stared as if he had just noticed her, and then a broad grin stretched across his face.

"God, Hermione – it's…it's so good to see you…." He moved toward her as he spoke, and as he reached for her, she could see that his eyes were watery. "I never thought I'd see you ag –"

"Stop," Hermione commanded. She held her hands out defensively and took a few steps back. "Don't…don't come any closer."

He stopped, but his smile did not fade completely. "It's really me, Hermione. I know how this must seem, but –"

"Do you? Because I was the one who found Harry's body after they killed him. It saw it, touched it…. It was him."

"It was a trick, Hermione; it had to be. Vol –"

Hermione's eyes flew wide, but he caught himself before he could finish the name. He grimaced.

"Sorry…I haven't had to watch my words for a long time." He looked down and pushed back his wet bangs with one hand while placing the other in his jeans pocket. How could anyone look and act so much like Harry?

He sighed, and looked back up.

"I've been locked inside the Chamber of Secrets since the battle at Hogwarts – er, the first one, over a year ago. Nobody knew I was there except for You-Know-Who. When Bill opened the wards, I was finally able to Disapparate…." He trailed off and, for a moment, seemed lost in thought. "Hermione – he _knew_ that all of you were coming."

"I…I know," she replied. "But…never mind that right now." At the moment, Hermione didn't find the fact that the Order of the Phoenix had apparently been compromised to be the most important topic of discussion.

"You claim that you were kept in the Chamber of Secrets…how were you caught?"

"Oh…well…."

He shifted and averted his eyes as he paused; he was clearly holding something back…or perhaps he hadn't thought his story through very far.

"Just before You-Know-Who's time limit was up and the Death Eaters were about to attack again, I went into the forest like he'd told me to – you know, when he magnified his voice and spoke to the whole school – and when I found him, he…he took me."

Hermione eyed him suspiciously.

"Look," he went on, "there's more to it than that, but…but now isn't really the right time."

"Right…" Hermione said, narrowing her eyes further.

"Damn it, Hermione," he began to step toward her but held back, balling up his fists and drawing a deep, exasperated breath instead. "We've traveled back in _time_ together; you were with me in the Department of Mysteries when Sirius died; you bought me a broom polishing kit; and we sat together in the top box to watch the Quidditch World Cup, right on this very spot!"

"Stop! Stop, that's enough…."

Hermione couldn't stand to hear any more. She had always followed and trusted logic above all else, and logically, nobody besides Harry, Ron, and herself could know the things that this person knew. Furthermore, the story of his capture fit with the timing of his disappearance, and if he _had_ been locked within the school grounds, he certainly couldn't have escaped until Bill opened Hogwarts' anti-Apparition wards. Everything fit, and if the situation were a puzzle on a test, she would have her answer: Harry was alive.

But her heart could not bear the risk of believing; she had only just begun to recover from the damage Harry's death had caused – if she dared to hope, and then lost him again…it would destroy her.

And what of the grave next to Fred's by the Weasley's orchard? Hermione was no fool; she had seen the body up close, and it was Harry to the last detail. It wore Harry's robes, glasses, and – around its neck – the Mokeskin pouch Hagrid had given Harry for his birthday. The body even had the Invisibility Cloak on it.

But mostly, Hermione had spent a year accepting that her friend, the brother she never had, was gone. A world in which he still lived made no sense.

"Hermione," said the Harry before her in a soft, gentle voice. "If I was a…a Death Eater, or something, pretending to be me…then why did I save your life?"

"I don't…I don't know."

"And if I'm not who I say I am, then how do you explain the fact that, before you brought us here, I Apparated us to the Burrow?"

"I don't know."

"Well, then –"

"Listen," Hermione cut in. "There are a _hundred_ things that I don't know right now, so until I get some answers, I'm going to proceed very carefully. And I absolutely will not let you go anywhere _near_ the Burrow." She suddenly felt stronger, more decisive, and moved to take control of the situation.

"Okay…okay," she said, standing straighter. "Here's what we're going to do. I'm going to take you someplace safe for the time being, while I go back to the others – they will be wondering where I am. Later tonight, after I…check on some things, I will meet you and we can continue this…discussion. All right?"

"Um…sure, I suppose…." His brow furrowed in exactly the same way that Harry's always did, and he seemed unsupportive of – even disappointed at – Hermione's plan.

_Of course_, Hermione thought. _If his job is to get close to me – probably to get close to the Order – then letting me leave is a gamble_….

"Yeah, I guess you _should_ get back," he continued in a resigned tone. "The others are probably going spare wondering what happened to you. Andy maybe…maybe it's best that I don't just show up out of the blue. But there's so much more to tell you; things that the Order _needs_ to know. If you need more proof that I'm Harry, just ask me anything you want."

"No, no more questions until…until I can check on some things. Don't worry, I'll have plenty to ask you later." _With other Order members backing me up_, she thought.

"Well," he said. "Where to, then?"

"Here," said Hermione, reaching out her hand. He held it, and then with a pop, she took them both to their next destination.

They appeared inside a room that was faintly lit by the final, dimmed rays of the setting sun, which shone through a nearby window. Hermione waited for her companion's reaction as she watched him squint his eyes to examine his surroundings, his gaze travelling over an armchair, a sofa, and finally a boarded-up fireplace.

"Hermione," he said apprehensively. "Why have you brought me to the Dursleys'?" He turned to Hermione with a confused look, and she had to suppress the flutter that his recognition of the house had stirred inside her.

"The Order checks in on this house from time to time, but it isn't used. The Death Eaters haven't been spotted around here for ages, but it still isn't safe enough for your Aunt and Uncle to –" Hermione caught herself speaking to him as if he was Harry, and redoubled her efforts to guard against such slips. "It still isn't safe enough for _the Dursleys_ to move back in."

"Well," he continued in a flat tone, "I bet they're just thrilled about that." He looked around the room again and shook his head. "From the new prison to the old one," he sighed, and fell into an armchair, causing a cloud of dust to launch into the air. Coughing, he stood back up. "Ugh…if Petunia saw that, she'd have a heart attack."

"You can wash up while I'm gone," said Hermione, observing his multiple layers of dust, mud, and dried blood. "But don't use any lights, Muggle or otherwise – the neighbors will know that the house is supposed to be vacant, and we don't want to attract any attention."

"You know me, Hermione – I like a low profile." He half-heartedly smiled at her, and Hermione resisted the impulse to smile back.

"I should be gone for only a few hours. Don't…don't go anywhere, okay?" Hermione was suddenly struck with a desperate urge to stay with him, to keep him in sight and ensure that he didn't disappear. What if she returned to find the house empty? Would she ever be able to go on without having solved this mystery once and for all?

She put her nervous energy to good use and moved about the room, casting the same protective charms he had used at the campsite. He stood with his hands in his jean pockets, and Hermione could feel his eyes on her as she worked. Finally, she turned to face him and prepared to leave.

"I'm…sorry about this," said Hermione, and she immediately kicked herself for meaning it.

"Yeah, well…just do what you have to so that you can believe me. I survived summer holidays at this place; a couple of hours won't kill me."

Hermione stood in place and stared at him for several moments, ready – but unwilling – to leave. Staring back, he gave her a tenuous smile. Finally, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and Disapparated.

To say that Hermoine was distracted would be an understatement, and as she arrived at the Burrow with an ear-splitting crack, she felt lucky that she hadn't splinched herself. The sky had gone fully dark, and – as it had been at the campsite and at Privet Drive – she saw no trace of the violent thunderstorm they had left behind at Hogwarts. She appeared just beyond the house's front yard and anti-Apparition charms, and could see the lawn by the light that shone through the Burrow's every window.

Almost immediately, Hermione heard a voice shout her name and saw movement by the front door. Ron was running at her, his torn, muddy clothes and scratched face still showing the signs of battle. His face held a wild, frantic look; his clear blue eyes caught the light and froze Hermione with their intensity. Ron didn't slow as he approached and he nearly knocked her over as he tackled her with a hug.

"Hermione! Oh my God…."

Ron squeezed her to him and for a moment Hermione stood in shock, her thoughts having been ripped from the all-consuming mystery of the new Harry to the boy who held her, the boy that she had only recently begun to understand how much she truly needed. Scenes from Hogwarts came rushing back to her: Death Eaters cursing Ron as he rushed to her aid atop the Astronomy tower; Ron a second from death at Voldemort's feet.

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, and she gripped him back just as enthusiastically. He released his hold to take her face in his warm, rough hands, met her eyes with a searing stare, and then crushed his lips to hers. The kiss was desperate, full of many unspoken emotions born not just from their brush with death, but also, Hermione knew, the feelings they had rediscovered during their reunion the day before. She tried to match his fervor with everything she had, to convey the things she hadn't yet found the courage to put into words, but the glorious moment ended as suddenly as it began.

Pulling away a few inches, Ron searched her face as he spoke in a rush.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"No, no I'm fine – what about you?"

"Just a few scratches. How did you...when…. What happened? Bill brought dad and Percy here before he went back to Hogwarts to get me, and he said that he saw you here. I would never have come here if I knew you hadn't made it out…."

"I brought George here," Hermione explained. "But then I went back to…to…"

On instinct, Hermione decided to keep her hidden "Harry" a secret for the moment.

"…to find you."

It was true; she had reentered the battle to ensure Ron's safety as much as she had returned to find the supposed reincarnation of her late best friend. Ron didn't need to know the full story; at least, not yet. She found that it was easier to consider the imposter objectively while away from his perfect mannerisms and Harry's unmistakable grin, but a part of her was bracing for the horrible pain that was sure to accompany the confirmation that the dream wasn't real, that Harry hadn't rejoined to them. She wouldn't set the others up for that kind of heartbreaking disappointment.

"What kept you?" Ron asked. "Bill reckons we made it out just before the anti-Apparition wards went back up, and that was almost a half an hour ago."

"The wards were back before I could get out, so I…I took a school broom and flew upward until I passed the boundary and could Disapparate."

"Y-you...." Ron stuttered. "On a broom?"

"Yes, well…I was lucky in that no one seemed to notice." Hermione avoided Ron's disbelieving gaze, and was thankful to hear Bill's voice call to them from the house.

"Is it her?"

"Yeah, it is!" Ron yelled back. Hermione could hear the joy and relief in his voice, and she chided herself for not hurrying back faster; for leaving them to worry.

"C'mon," said Ron, taking her hand. "We should get inside."

He led Hermione into the house past a smiling Bill, who, up close, looked to be in pretty bad shape. There were several fresh wounds visible across his face and arms, and he labored to follow them into the house, limping and supporting himself against the wall.

"Bill," said Ron, who had turned to notice his eldest brother's difficulty. "Let me give you a hand."

"I've got it," Bill replied, waving Ron off.

"The stubborn git won't let anyone touch him until everyone else has been looked after first," Ron said to Hermione while frowning at Bill.

"Everyone…else?" Hermione repeated, terrified at the meaning behind his words.

"Yeah," Ron simply said, and they reached the doorway to the sitting room. As she entered, Hermione saw the rest of the people that had returned from Hogwarts gathered there. Charlie and Percy stood nearest, appearing a bit roughed up but uninjured; Kingsley sat in a chair by the fireplace with a bandaged leg propped up on a footrest; and across the room, George and Mr. Weasley lay on beds that Hermione knew were actually transfigured armchairs. They seemed to be in the worst shape, and were the rooms' only two occupants that didn't look up as she arrived.

"Oh thank heavens," squeaked Mrs. Weasley, who moved from a seat by her husband to wrap Hermione in a tight hug. Ginny, who had been standing by her father, followed and gave Hermione a look of relief over her mother's shoulder, an emotion which was echoed in the voices of the others in the room.

"What's…." Hermione trailed off, and Mrs. Weasley pulled away to follow Hermione's stare to the two still figures lying on the beds. Hermione saw the woman's expression darken, but George spoke before his mother got the chance.

"Hark – is that m-my…savior, I hear?" came his weak voice, but still he did not turn to look at them. Hermione walked to his bedside and saw that he was covered in cuts and fresh bruises, and that he lay rigid as if paralyzed.

"George…." was all Hermione could say.

"I-it isn't as bad as…it looks," he said with obvious difficulty. I was b-blindsided by the…bloody g-gargoyle outside the…h-headmaster's office, of all things. McGonagall s-sicced it on me."

"McGonagall," Hermione started, remembering the encounter with her Imperiused Transfiguration professor.

"She's upstairs, asleep," said Kingsley in his slow, deep voice. "Poppy's checking on her. It was the damndest thing; Minerva Apparated here by herself even though she was under the Imperius curse…she must have fought it. We found her outside the wards, just standing there, waiting for us. I was able to remove the curse, but just barely. In my years as an Auror, I've never come across an Imperius so strong."

Hermione immediately knew what must have happened after she left the professor to duel one-on-one with the Harry look-alike, whose power went beyond what she knew of magic.

"If you h-hadn't got me…out of there," wheezed George, "I would've b-been a…goner."

She took his hand and he winced, causing her to let it go.

"Will you be…okay?

"Not if he doesn't lie still," admonished Madame Pomfrey, who strode into the room and brushed past Hermione to check on her patient. "If you keep trying to move, the Skele-gro won't take properly." Catching Hermione's worried look, she added, "But if you do as I say, you should be back to normal in a day or two."

"W-will I be able to p-play the piano?" George asked.

"Of course, why wouldn't you?"

"Well…I c-couldn't before…."

"Not up to your usual standards, mate," groaned Ron, whose somber face cracked a small grin.

Madame Pomfrey turned her attention to Mr. Weasley, who remained unconscious and was terribly pale. "He still hasn't woken?" she asked with a glance at Mrs. Weasley.

"No," answered the Weasley matriarch in a frightful voice. Stroking the hair on her husband's head, she added, "Should he have?"

"It's hard to say…. On top of his injuries, he lost a lot of blood before I was able to treat him. I don't mean to alarm you Molly, but Arthur came…very close."

Hermione raised a hand to her mouth and gasped. She felt Ron's hold on her other hand tighten.

"It was all my fault," whimpered Percy. "I got into trouble with a bunch of Death Eaters, and dad got hurt fighting them off. Bill got us back here and then dad just…just collapsed."

"It's nobody's fault, Perce," said Charlie, who put a hand on his brother's shoulder, "but those damn Death Eaters."

"He's stable, Molly," continued Madame Pomfrey. "And that's a small miracle. If Ginny hadn't stepped in and acted as fast as she did…."

"Ginny?" Hermione repeated.

"Ginny saved her father's life," said Madame Pomfrey, who looked at Ginny appreciatively. "The bleeding wouldn't stop, and I couldn't understand why the wounds wouldn't close. I should have realized what I was dealing with, but Ginny recognized the dark magic straight away and knew the counter curse."

"It's just lucky that I was in the DA," Ginny added in a flat voice, with her eyes on her father. "Harry taught it to me. I guess that's another life debt the Weasleys owe him."

In her mind's eye, Hermione again pictured Harry – or whoever he was – Apparating between Ron and Voldemort as the latter cast the Killing Curse. Could the real Harry Potter have saved yet another Weasley life only an hour ago? The memory continued, and a new truth began to sink in: this person, whoever he was, could not possibly be in league with Voldemort.

Hermione had reasoned that an imposter might have aided her to gain her trust and be taken to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, but this person's actions had contributed to the destruction of Nagini, Voldemort's final Horcrux. The Dark Lord had seemed genuinely surprised to see him, and the danger had certainly felt real enough when Voldemort chased after them. But then…why didn't Voldemort kill this "Harry" when the boy stood defenseless in front of him?

Nothing made any sense, and the more uncertain Hermione was about the perplexing wizard's true motives, the more her wishful side fought to seize control of her. Hermione obsessed over any question she didn't know the answer to, and this one was killing her.

A spluttering cough snapped her attention back to the present, and – following the turning heads of the room's other occupants – Hermione saw that Mr. Weasley had begun to stir.

Molly uttered, "Arthur!" in a startled whisper, and her children closed in on their father's bed as one before Madame Pomfrey quickly shooed them back with a wave of her hand. She moved her wand over her patient, the tip of which glowed brightly. This seemed to satisfy her, as she put her wand away and leaned forward to speak to Mr. Weasley, just inches from his face.

"Arthur, it's Poppy – can you tell me how you feel?"

"Brilliant," he groaned, while he seemed to be shifting to find a position that wouldn't cause him pain. Mrs. Weasley raised her clasped hands to her chin as fresh tears fell down her face, and she smiled for the first time since Hermione arrived.

But contrary to the wave of relief that made its way across the room, Mr. Weasley was suddenly alarmed. "What…what happened?" Is everyone –"

"We're all here," assured Mrs. Weasley, and then – smiling at Hermione – she added, "every one of us."

"Thank God," he moaned, and then grunted in pain as he settled back into a relaxed position.

"Boys," instructed Madame Pomfrey, "help sit him up a little." Charlie and Percy moved forward and gently did as they were told, while Madame Pomfrey reached for a small bottle of potion that sat ready on a nearby table. "Try to drink this, Arthur. It will help."

He drank every drop, and with each gulp his face twisted with more disgust.

"I don't suppose I want to know what was in that?" he asked, as his sons lowered him back to the bed.

"Not if you want to keep it down," replied the matron.

"The mission," said Mr. Weasley, who had apparently just remembered the reason his family was in such rough shape.

"We got McGonagall," reported Bill. "Nobody really understands how; she just seemed to show up here on her own. We didn't get Dumbledore's portrait, and we didn't bring back the hat – but it doesn't really matter."

"Doesn't _matter_?" asked Charlie, incredulously.

Bill grinned at Charlie, and then positively beamed at Ron.

"Ron killed Nagini," he said. "Somehow the hat was just there, and Ron pulled out the sword and chopped the snake in half – and took a good chunk out of Voldemort's shoulder, too."

Cheers erupted from around the room as Ron's brothers patted his back, ruffled his hair, and high-fived each other in celebration. Ron's freckled face glowed red at the attention, but he seemed to appreciate it. Ginny, smiling wide, gave Ron a hug, during which he whispered in her ear. Hermione, still at Ron's side, was close enough to hear Ron tell her, "That one was for Harry." Ginny wiped at her eyes as they pulled apart, and she silently nodded her appreciation.

"Good lord, Ron," said Mr. Weasley over the ruckus. He was clearly taken aback by the news that his youngest son had fought Lord Voldemort and come away the winner. Similarly, his wife's face had gone white with shock. "Did you really?" he continued. "You killed it?"

"Yeah, dad – that's the last Horcrux gone. The next time somebody gets a lucky shot in, it'll be the end of that bloody bastard."

The color began to return to Mr. Weasley's face, and with watery eyes and a proud smile, he said, "Well done, son. Well done."

Hermione squeezed Ron's hand, which she had continued to hold, and flashed him a brilliant smile when he looked at her. Ron released her hand to put his arm around her, and she leaned into him.

Hermione closed her eyes and released a long breath. Despite being ambushed by a small army of waiting Death Eaters – including Voldemort himself – they were all going to be okay. Things could have easily gone much, much worse; if it weren't for the boy she had just left at Privet Drive, at least she, Ron, and possibly George would have been killed. As the others continued to excitedly discuss the ramifications of Ron's actions, Hermione's full attention once again drifted to their mysterious rescuer.

* * * * * * *

A short time later, Mrs. Weasley hastily threw together a quick dinner and everyone remained in the sitting room to eat with those who were still too injured to relocate to the kitchen. They ate in relative silence as a strange energy hung over the room; nearly all of them had just survived near-death experiences and their nerves were still on end, but at the same time, they rejoiced in the fact that they were all accounted for, hurt but whole.

Ron sat close beside Hermione on the sofa as they ate, and when she finished her helping of mashed potatoes, he uncharacteristically tried to persuade her to take the rest of his. Hermione's appetite wasn't up to it, however, as she continued to withdraw into her repeated examinations of each moment she had spent with Harry's double. It wasn't until she heard Harry's name spoken aloud that she realized a conversation had started around her.

"I mean, Harry and Dumbledore had it right, didn't they?" said Charlie. "I didn't like being kept in the dark, but nobody ever found out what they were up to."

"It's easy to say that now," countered Bill. "We'll certainly have to limit the flow of information more in the future…but I just can't believe that anyone who knew our plans would have sold us out to Voldemort."

"You don't reckon we should go somewhere else," said Ron. "Just to play it safe?"

"Nah," answered George, who was still in pain but already showed improvement. He was able to sit up enough to eat soup, which his mother fed to him. "With the Fidelius charm protecting this place, the only one who can tip off our whereabouts to You-Know-Poo is the Secret-Keeper. You haven't been inviting any Death Eaters over for tea, have you Bill?"

"No," Bill answered. "We should be fine here. And I've checked with the other safe houses using our new secure Floo Network, and nothing's happened."

"It's _too_ quiet, if you ask me," added Kingsley. "After what we pulled, I would have expected some kind of response from Voldemort by now." The former Auror sat his empty plate on a table and stood, gripping his chair's armrest as he did so to lighten the weight on his injured leg. "I'm going to Shell Cottage to check on things there in person."

"I'll go with you," said Bill. "I should really get back to Fleur."

"I'm coming too," added Charlie.

After Bill and Charlie wished Mr. Weasley and George well, and received kisses from their mother, they joined Kingsley and the three of them left amidst green flames in the room's fireplace.

"I didn't know it was possible for us to create a private Floo Network," said Hermione while she watched the fire die down.

"It isn't _supposed_ to be possible, George responded, a grin evident in his voice. "But since when has that ever stopped us from doing anything? It just took a while to figure it out, that's all."

"While you were helping yourself to dinner in the kitchen," said Mrs. Weasley to Hermione, "I took the liberty of using it to check in with your parents."

"My…parents?" echoed Hermione, stunned. How could she not have thought of them even once when they could be in grave danger?

"Yes, dear – we had them added to our network last night; we thought it might be wise with everything that's going on."

"Yes – thank you, Mrs. Weasley. And…they're okay? Nothing…unusual has happened, or…or…."

"Nothing at all. I warned them to be extra cautious and to not leave the house for a little while, but if anyone is looking for you there, the charms that Arthur put in place seem to have done the trick."

"Thank goodness," said Hermione, who felt unbelievably lucky to have not paid a price for forgetting something so vital. She slumped forward in relief and felt Ron's hand rub her back. Warmth seemed to spread from his touch throughout her body, and she closed her eyes to soak in the sensation. She remembered his embrace upon arriving at the Burrow, and his lips….

"They would like to speak with you tonight, when you can," added Mrs. Weasley, splashing cold water on Hermione's reverie. "I didn't go into any details," she continued, "but I think they could sense that everything wasn't all right here."

"I'll be sure to, Mrs. Weasley."

Ron took his hand from her back, laid it across Hermione's shoulders, and pulled her against his side. The warm, numbing feeling began to descend upon her again, and she rested her head upon his shoulder. Ron was a calming force against the storm of thoughts swirling around inside her head.

They stayed like that for a while, neither breaking the soothing, healing feeling between them with words. On Madame Pomfrey's orders, Mr. Weasley and George were eventually moved upstairs to get some proper bed rest, and a short time later, professor McGonagall entered the room with the help of Ginny and Madame Pomfrey on either side of her. Hermione was happy to see her former teacher up and in control of herself again, but then she felt a thrill of fear at the realization that McGonagall had seen – dueled – the person that Hermione was keeping secret.

"Minerva," said Mrs. Weasley, who rose to meet the new arrival. "We're so relieved to have you back. How are you?"

"Not…not well, Molly." Ginny and Madame Pomfrey lowered McGonagall into an armchair directly across from where Hermione sat with Ron. The professor rested back against the chair and caught her breath; the journey down the stairs seemed to have cost all of her strength. "Thank…thank you, Poppy…Miss Weasley."

"Let's get you fed," said Mrs. Weasley. "I've got soup, or there might be enough ham left…."

"Soup would be lovely, Molly…thank you."

Mrs. Weasley headed for the kitchen, with Madame Pomfrey following behind her. Ginny curled up on the opposite end of the sofa upon which Hermione sat with Ron.

"It's good to see you, professor," said Hermione, tentatively.

"Miss Granger," acknowledged McGonagall, her eyelids heavy.

"Do you, um, remember anything that…happened?"

McGonagall sighed and closed her eyes, and did not reopen them when she replied.

"No…no, I do not recall any of this evening's events. In fact, I have yet to remember anything of the past several months. My last memory is of my capture. I cannot be certain, but I…I believe it may have been Voldemort himself who cast the Imperius curse on me."

Just as Hermione had begun to relax at the news that her secret was safe, she reeled at the thought that anyone could wrest control of a curse performed by the most powerful dark wizard the world has ever known. Kingsley had nearly been unable to undo the new curse, and he was a top Auror that was trained in the removal of the Imperius. This…Harry…person…had topped Voldemort's curse, and he had done so without a wand. Whether or not he was really Harry, what would a wizard this powerful mean to the wizarding world, to the war? Hermione had just begun to consider the possibilities when the fireplace roared to life, and a face appeared in the flames.

"Kingsley," acknowledged Percy, who had been sitting quietly by the fire.

"Percy," said the deep voice in a grave tone that caused Hermione to brace for bad news. "Is Arthur there?"

"He's resting, but mum is in the kitchen – should I get her?"

"Get everyone who's up…Voldemort has responded to our attack."

The room went deathly still as Percy ran from the room, and in just a few moments, he returned with his mother, who hurried behind him with a look of alarm.

"That's everyone," said Percy. "George is asleep, too."

"All right," said Kingsley, and he drew a deep breath.

"We've just gotten word of three coordinated attacks that happened approximately twenty minutes ago. At the Ministry of Magic, someone walked into the main lobby and caused a massive explosion. It isn't clear what spell he used, but in addition to killing himself, the attacker took the lives of ten ministry workers and injured many more." Kingsley sighed. "They say that the blast left a small…crater…where the fountain used to be."

The horror that paralyzed Hermione was so absolute that she could not utter a sound, and neither did anyone else. She stared transfixed at the face in the fire, unable to process what she had just heard, unable to comprehend such loss.

"Survivors have said that the killer introduced himself…as Harry Potter. They say that he looked just like Potter, too. And…." Kingsley paused, and his eyes flitted from Ron to Mrs. Weasley before he went on. "And just before he…did it, they say that his only words were, 'I have a message for Ron Weasley.'"

"At the same time," Kingsley pressed on, despite the looks of shock on the faces of his captive audience, "Our sources say that a second Harry Potter entered the offices of the Daily Prophet. This one said he had a message for Hermione Granger. Not counting the attacker, the explosion killed thirteen witches and wizards."

"Thirteen…." Madame Pomfrey repeated in a whisper.

"And the third Harry Potter paid a visit to St. Mungo's."

"No," gasped Mrs. Weasley.

"Nearly twenty patients and hospital staff were killed in the blast." Kingsley again looked apologetically at Mrs. Weasley. "He said his message was for Ginny."

"But Ginny didn't go on the mission," argued Mrs. Weasley, her voice frantic. "She wasn't there!"

Kingsley had no response, and the room slipped into a deafening silence as everyone absorbed the terrible, unimaginable news. Finally, Ron spoke up.

"But…but the Death Eaters practically run all of those places!"

"We think it's symbolic," said Kingsley. "Voldemort wanted to make a statement, wanted to show everyone that nowhere is safe. Outside of Hogwarts, he targeted our central institutions. We're fairly certain that the attacks are over for now, but we're still looking into it. I should go. I'll let you know if we find out any more." And with a nod to the room in general, his face vanished.

Hermione's head was spinning. So many were dead…murdered…as a result of the raid she had taken part in. She felt completely overwhelmed. She felt nauseas. She felt…hot. Very hot.

"Ginny!" shouted Mrs. Weasley, and Hermione turned to see heat radiating off the girl in waves. She was standing with her fists clenched, and the look on her face was beyond anger. Hermione felt a twinge of fear; Ginny looked…off. Unhinged.

"They want _me_?" she said, incredulously. "Am I supposed to be _afraid_ now? Come after me, then! I HOPE they find me!"

The air was boiling. Mrs. Weasley tried to restrain her daughter but Ginny moved away, gesturing wildly as she raised her voice.

"If I get the chance, I will KILL every one of those bastards!"

Mrs. Weasley again reached out, and this time Ginny smacked her hand away.

"I'LL KILL THEM!"

The sofa near Ginny burst into flames, causing Hermione and Ron to leap off it. Ginny didn't seem to notice.

"What, Riddle thinks we won't defend ourselves if he dresses Death Eaters up as Harry?"

"Ginny, stop!" yelled Ron, who seized his sister's wrists only to jerk them away as if burned. "You're going to burn the house down!"

"DON'T YOU BE CALM!" she screamed at him. "Harry was your _BEST FRIEND_! How DARE they –"

"I know, Ginny! I know! And we're going to make them pay! But look – LOOK at what you're doing!"

Ginny finally seemed to take in what her out-of-control anger had unleashed, and she fell into an armchair with her face in her hands. Hermione pulled out her wand and, with quick spell work, doused the sofa.

Madame Pomfrey eased McGonagall back into her seat after having helped the professor move away from the fire. Mrs. Weasley stepped toward her daughter, but – apparently unsure how Ginny would react to her touch – simply stood next to her. Ron turned to Hermione and took her in his arms, and she clung to him for comfort.

"God," Hermione sobbed against him. "All those innocent people…."

"_Bastards_," spat Ginny, who uncovered her eyes to stare toward an empty corner of the room. Her face was now soaked with tears, but her expression remained hard, furious.

There was nothing else anyone could say.

* * * * * * *

Shortly afterward, Hermione lay in her guest bed in Ginny's room. Everyone had broken apart to be alone with his or her thoughts, and many had retired to their rooms, though Hermione suspected that few of them had yet managed to find sleep.

Earlier she had flooed her parents and lied as convincingly as possible, saying that while they should stay inside the house and use extra caution for the time being, they needn't worry about their daughter. They still wanted Hermione to return home, but trusted Mr. and Mrs. Weasley enough to let her stay.

She had remained in the sitting room with Ron for a little while, but instead of finding calm in his presence, Hermione feared that she had the opposite effect on him. In light of the killings made by the Harry imposters, she was a wreck over what to do about the Harry she had promised to meet. It could be suicide to keep him a secret and return to Privet Drive alone. But far from trying to kill her, this Harry had saved her – and Ron – from certain death. Could it really have been an act, part of a plan to murder more of the Order?

Hermione had silently debated these points back and forth, becoming outwardly more agitated as she struggled over what to do. Should she take the sensible, logical course of action and turn this "Harry" in, or follow her heart, which she could not deny believed his story even if her brain did not? For a reason that Hermione could not identify, she resisted at all costs sharing her predicament with anyone else.

But Ron could tell that something was wrong, and the more she avoided his questions – the more she withdrew from him to focus on her internal struggle – the more suspicious he seemed to become. In light of the day's traumatic events, Hermione reasoned that he probably feared a relapse; that she would break down and run away as she had before. Hermione felt horrible for making Ron worry yet again, but it took all of her strength to hide the true severity of her distress as well as she had. Truth be told, if Ron did suspect that she was close to snapping, he wasn't far off the mark.

Perhaps all that kept Hermione from falling apart was the crucial task that remained for her at the Burrow; the real reason she had left the boy behind at the Dursleys' house. Hermione had known that she would have to wait until everyone was asleep before she could move forward with her plan, and as the time for her to take action ticked nearer, she became proportionately more anxious. She was fairly sure that Ginny had recently succumbed to sleep, and her suspicions were confirmed when Ron entered the room and his sister did not stir.

"Hermione?" he whispered, having crept to her bedside. Hermione feigned sleep, and after a minute, heard Ron close the door behind him and climb the creaky staircase.

With tremendous effort, Hermione held off for another hour, straining to catch any sound that might signal that the coast wasn't clear. Finally, when she could no longer force herself to remain patient, she slowly, painstakingly left her bed and dressed.

Hermione was so cautious that she took ten minutes to descend the stairs and exit the house through the back door. It was still warm beneath the starry sky, which the bright, full moon painted a deep purple. She carefully made her way across the backyard and sped into a jog as she moved farther from the house. By the time she reached the orchard, the back of the Burrow was almost entirely obscured by trees. With a glance toward the orchard's edge, she found what she was looking for.

Next to Fred's final resting place was a second grave with an identical headstone – the only difference was that it had been marked with the name "Harry Potter."

Hermione froze for a moment. She had fled the magical world the night they found Harry's body and hadn't returned for the burial – one of her many regrets. As she stared at the stone, all of her swirling theories, fears, and regrets were burned away by one thing: a need to know.

With regret but no hesitation, she brandished her wand and – after a hastily cast noise-cancelling spell – began to shift dirt from the grave. If, in minutes, she were to gaze upon the cold face of her dead best friend, she would feel unforgivable shame…but there was no other way.

As the flicks of her wrist dug the hole deeper and deeper, her wand movements becoming faster and more frantic, Hermione's darkest memory – the event that had sent her life spiraling off course – pushed through her usual defenses.

For the first time, she did not fight it.

- - - - - - -

It was three days after the battle at Hogwarts, where Harry had gone missing. The wizarding world had been thrown into chaos as, emboldened by their victory, Voldemort and his Death Eaters seized control of Hogwarts and made grabs for more power within the Ministry of Magic and elsewhere. Those that had stood against Voldemort at the school went into hiding, or else stuck to the shadows when venturing out to gather information. Such was the case with Arthur Weasley and Hermione Granger, who Apparated into the loft above Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, one of the many abandoned shops in Diagon Alley.

"Hm," said Mr. Weasley, looking around the empty, dusty room. "I thought our informant might have beaten us here; we're quite late."

"You don't think he ran into trouble?" asked Hermione. "Diagon Alley isn't the safest place to go these days…." Mr. Weasley did not respond as Hermione walked to the window, which had been boarded up. The room was dimly lit by the slivers of light that shone through the cracks between the boards. She found a particularly large gap between two planks of wood and bent closer to peek through the opening to the street below.

"Oh," she said, the moment she had put her eye to the gap. "There's something going on…people are running toward the center of the district…."

"What?" replied Mr. Weasley, and he joined her to take a turn looking through the boards. "Hermione…stay here," he said, straightening back up. "I'll go have a look."

"I won't let you leave by yourself, Mr. Weasley. We'll both go."

He scrutinized her for a moment before he conceded.

"Well, all right, but stick close to me and avoid moving out in the open."

Hermione nodded her consent, and together they took the stairs down to the shop and exited onto the street.

The late-afternoon sky was golden, and the setting sun cast long shadows that made it possible for them to remain somewhat concealed if they stuck to the side of the street. The area wasn't nearly as populated as it had been before these dark and dangerous times, but a good number of people still ran past Hermione as she and Mr. Weasley moved at a more cautious pace. The commotion increased as they neared the heart of Diagon Alley, and when Hermione happened to glance skyward, she lost her breath upon seeing the terrifyingly familiar green skull, the top of it just visible above nearby rooftops. Simultaneously, she and Mr. Weasley quickened their pace into a jog and headed directly for the Dark Mark.

They turned another corner, and the shock caused Hermione to stumble. Staining the sky was not one, but a dozen Dark Marks, the intensity of their combined glow casting all nearby stores and streets in a sickening green shade. The horrors floated directly above Gringotts Bank, where crowds of people had gathered to gaze up at them – no, not at _them_, they were looking at….

Hermione heard a terrible scream and realized it was her own.

Above the bronze double doors, stretched across the Gringotts sign, hung a lifeless, savaged body clad in ripped Gryffindor robes, with a face that held round-framed glasses beneath its messy mop of black hair.

Mr. Weasley ran forward and Hermione followed. Dodging past a few scattered groups of onlookers, they reached the steps that led to the bank's doors. Hermione's foot slipped when she came to a stop, and she looked down to find that the street was slick and glistening. Taking a step back, she took in the sloppy red letters written on the street that spanned the width of the steps above them:

"_The boy who died_."

The words were becoming increasingly illegible as more of the red liquid pooled into them, and – following the trail up the white stairs – Hermione saw the blood oozing from the robed figure.

Beside her, Mr. Weasley pulled out his wand and frantically began to cast spells in an attempt to bring the body down, but time after time, nothing worked. He finally conjured a rickety wooden ladder and climbed it. He could just reach the body from the top rung, but he had to further tear its robes to bring it down; a patch of black cloth remained stuck to the wall by whatever charm had been used to fasten it there.

Mr. Weasley descended the ladder slowly, careful not to jostle the figure in his arms. Upon reaching the ground, he laid the body on the stairs and Hermione joined him in kneeling beside it. Hermione touched a hand to its white face and found it to be ice cold. Brushing back its bangs, she could clearly see the lightning-shaped scar, and Harry's Mokeskin pouch hung around its neck.

Hermione's brain wasn't working. All thought was suspended while she unconsciously went through the motions of confirming what she already knew. She could feel a terrifying force about to break through; could feel a train charging down its tracks toward her, until – when Mr. Weasley opened the boy's robes – it slammed into her.

She spluttered incoherently as she saw the mutilated remains. The arms were flayed and twisted; the legs had been shattered. The chest was open.

Hermione slid down several steps as she recoiled in horror. She tried to turn away but could not dislodge her eyes from the abomination; it burned into her, becoming a hundred times more unbearable by the second.

From the other side of the body, a low sound escaped Mr. Weasley that sounded like a wounded animal. Hermione saw that his clothes were covered in the corpse's blood, and that he held one of its mangled hands in his.

A short shriek shot from Hermione's lips, quickly followed by another. Her brain was catching up; she was becoming aware of the full meaning of what she was seeing. The shouts turned into wails as she clawed at her legs, arms, and hair. She began to crawl back across the slippery steps toward what she now acknowledged was Harry, but Mr. Weasley met her halfway and locked her in a tight embrace, pressing her head to his chest and blocking Harry from view. Hermione struggled to break free as more screams ripped through her, but could not break his hold.

As they sat there, members of the watching crowd began to move closer to inspect the body for themselves. At this, Mr. Weasley pulled Hermione to her feet and spoke to her in a broken, urgent voice.

"W-we have to get him out of here," he said, holding her by the shoulders. Hermione looked past him back at Harry, who lay defiled and exposed. The Invisibility Cloak spilled out from the inside of the opened robes and onto the steps.

Without a word, Hermione moved to block the observers as they reached the stairs, while Mr. Weasley pulled Harry together enough to lift him in his arms. Hermione brandished her wand as she led Mr. Weasley past the crowds. Her fierce expression warned those that approached to turn away, even as she continued to sob. People stared after them but did not follow as they fled. They turned down a couple of streets until, reaching the end of a dark alleyway, they were safely out of sight.

"Hermione," came Mr. Weasley's strained voice, but she showed no sign of response as her eyes fixed on the body he carried. Her breathing had become shallow and stuttered; she found it difficult to take in air.

"Hermione!" he called again, and this time she caught his eye. His face was glazed in tears and specks of blood.

"I don't think you should try to Disapparate right now, and I can only side-along one at a time, so I need you to remain here for just a moment while I go ahead, all right?"

Hermione mutely nodded her understanding.

"Stay here," he stressed, and then Mr. Weasley took Harry away.

Hermione wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes, only to find the ghastly image of Harry's broken body inside them. She looked around the alley and tried to steady her breathing. As a minute melted by, she felt her mind begin to shut itself down again; it was as if she remained hung between thoughts; a standing, breathing shell.

She almost didn't notice Mr. Weasley's return until he gripped her shoulder and prepared to Disapparate. She seized his arm with her hands and the alley faded away.

* * * * * * *

Tears flowed freely down Hermione's face as she continued to dig into Harry's grave at a frantic pace, her wand swinging wildly as thrown dirt rained down around her.

At last, she uncovered a long, plain wooden box. The shock of its appearance gave her pause, and when she used a levitation charm to gently lift the casket from its resting place, the fast, violent motions she had used to move the earth were replaced with grace and great care. She placed the box next to the open grave with a soft thud.

Hermione still had not caught her breath and her heart continued to beat wildly. Unable to fully accept what she was about to do, she moved to the coffin as if in a trance and knelt beside it. Her hands moved of their own accord to reach out and touch the wood. Her thumbs wrapped under the lid.

She had spent hours convincing herself that Harry rested peacefully inside, but if she found him there now, Hermione doubted she would ever find the strength to stand back up.

With a scream, she threw open the lid.

A breeze rustled through the trees.

An owl hooted in the distance.

And Hermione laughed.

It began in spurts and quickly rose to hysterics – loud, convulsive laughter that was punctuated by sporadic sobs. Then the howls turned mournful and she doubled over, wailing, as a year's worth of caged emotions were set free at last.

A year of nightmares, a year in exile, a year apart from those she needed most…had all been because of a lie.

For inside the box, adorned in immaculate Gryffindor robes, lay the decaying remains of Draco Malfoy.

Still weeping, Hermione leaned into the casket, removed the Mokeskin pouch from around Draco's neck, and pocketed it. She pulled apart the robes to find the body that had been ruined by dark magic and felt revulsion, but nothing more. She instinctively searched the robes' inside pockets for the Invisibility Cloak and found it missing.

Hermione closed the lid and steadied herself against it as she stood on shaking legs. With a growing urgency she levitated the coffin back into its plot and hastily, haphazardly piled the dirt back on top of it. She turned her back on the grave without a second thought, leaving the proud Slytherin to lie beneath the headstone that bore the name of his most hated rival.

Hermione choked out intermittent laughs and sobs as she pushed her trembling legs to carry her as fast as possible to the Burrow. Slowing to step through the back door, she raised a hand to cover her wet mouth, which muffled the spastic hiccupping sounds that continued to spurt forth.

She was completely possessed by a single thought: _go to him_. Nothing else mattered. Her only other consideration – the one thing that could have possibly penetrated her absolute focus on her destination – was the only other person that mattered to her as much: Ron. Leaving, once again, in the dead of night would be bad enough; she had to let Ron know that this wouldn't be like before, that she would be back. Scanning the kitchen for spare parchment and a quill, she spotted the remains of dinner that Mrs. Weasley hadn't felt up to clearing. Thinking of Harry, Hermione grabbed a basket that still held a few rolls and piled in other scattered leftovers.

"Hermione," came a voice, startling her. "What are you doing?"

Ginny had walked in wearing her oversized t-shirt, her bare legs and arms pale in the moonlight that entered through the kitchen window.

"Hermione?" Ginny repeated when she received no answer. "Why are you dressed? Have…have you been crying?"

Hermione shook her head and, looking away from Ginny, clutched the basket of food to her chest and walked past her. Hermione's entire being cried out for just one thing, and she would not – _could_ not – be kept from it.

Ginny followed and – in a soft, caring tone – continued to call after Hermione, who moved quickly through the house and did not answer back. When Hermione went through the front door and down the porch steps, she heard Ginny say her name again, this time in a loud, stern voice. Hermione stopped and turned to see Ginny standing in the doorway with a wary look on her face.

"You promised that you wouldn't hurt him anymore," Ginny cautioned.

Remembering their discussion from the previous night, and the revelation that Harry's apparent death had, if possible, affected Ginny even more than herself, Hermione was struck with a sudden urge to shout her discovery at her, or to simply grab Ginny's arm and Apparate them both to where Harry waited. But then she remembered the killings and the mass murderers that had worn Harry's face, and decided against it. She could wait one more day; Hermione could plan the best way to handle the situation for everyone involved.

"I'll be back this time, Ginny. I _swear_. By noon tomorrow. I…I just have to see my parents right now. So much has happened, and…and I just need to make sure they are all right." Hermione felt horribly guilty for lying to Ginny when she knew what Harry's return would mean to her, and for not truly rushing to watch over her parents when she probably should. "Please, Ginny – _please_ tell Ron. I'll be back. Noon tomorrow."

Ginny folded her arms and considered Hermione with a neutral expression.

"Are you sure that you're going to be okay?" she asked.

"Yes. Yes, I.... This isn't like last time, Ginny."

"Noon tomorrow," Ginny confirmed. "Don't make us worry."

"Thank you, Ginny." Hermione tried to give her a reassuring smile, and Ginny attempted one in return.

Hermione turned and hurried across the yard, passed through the gate, and stopped beyond the invisible wall of protective wards. She Disapparated with a last regretful glance at Ginny's silhouetted frame in the doorway, and appeared a moment later on the front porch of number four, Privet Drive. With a quick look around at the still, silent suburbs, she muttered the incantations that would allow her through the protective spells she had cast earlier, and then entered the house.

After closing the front door behind her, Hermione cautiously crept down the hall and into the living room where she had last seen Harry – he wasn't there. Thinking of the late hour, she sat her basket in an armchair, returned to the hall, and climbed the stairs. She checked Harry's old bedroom and then the others, but still found no trace of him.

As Hermione retraced her steps to the first floor, she felt a panic rising within her. He couldn't be gone, not after she'd just found him again. She thought of what a fool she had been to leave him….

And then, upon entering the kitchen, she saw him. The back door was open and he sat in the opening with his back to her, casting a long shadow across the kitchen floor as he gazed at the moon. The scene was so tranquil, so dreamlike, that Hermione froze on the spot, hesitant to disturb it. Her mind pushed forth a dozen things to call out to him, but the words caught in her throat. After several long moments, it was Harry that broke the silence.

"Did you check on what you wanted?" he asked calmly, without turning around.

Hermione's face twisted with emotion, and her eyes began to sting as she nodded and then whispered, "Yes."

"And?"

Tears spilled down her cheeks as Hermione stepped into the kitchen and again found herself unable to speak. Finally, with a swallow to ready her dry throat, she produced a single word:

"Harry."

He looked over his shoulder at her and smiled, as his own tears twinkled in the moonlight.

"That's what I've been waiting to hear."

Hermione moved slowly toward Harry as he stood and wiped his face. He showed no signs of the earlier battle – he was clean, his jeans were not torn, and he wore a simple white t-shirt. She stopped just inches from him and timidly reached out her hand to touch his chest with her fingers – he was solid, real. She looked into his face and no longer imagined deception or malice in his green gaze, but instead saw a shy first-year boy on the Hogwarts Express…a reluctant dancer at the Yule Ball…a friend by her bedside in the hospital wing.

She slid her arms around him, pressed her forehead to his chest, and wept.

"I know," he whispered, sniffling. "I missed you, too."

Something inside Hermione healed as they held one another, and she smiled while she cried against him.

* * * * * * *

A short while later, after the tears had gone and only smiles remained, Hermione began to tell Harry of the day's events. They sat at the kitchen table and Harry hungrily ate the food that Hermione had brought as he listened to her news. He lost his appetite, however, upon hearing of the murders that the Death Eaters had committed in his name.

"This…this is all my fault," he said, appearing sick. "Vol – You-Know-Who did this to keep anyone from trusting me; to stop anyone from helping me. If I hadn't escaped…."

"That's how I felt at first, too," said Hermione. "I mean, if the others and I hadn't gone to Hogwarts, none of this would have happened. But we can't blame ourselves, Harry – _he_ did this. You-Know-Who had those people killed."

"I know…you're right, but still…God. All those people. He probably used Polyjuice potion – found a hair or something of mine in the Chamber of Secrets and…."

Harry's brow suddenly creased, and he gave Hermione a calculating look. "Wait – you knew that he was using my doubles to kill people, and you came back here anyway? Are you _mental_?"

"I knew that it was really you," Hermione said, defensively. "At least, a part of me did. I tried to ignore it…tried not to get my hopes up, but…I knew. I spent nearly every day with you for six years, Harry – I would know a fake."

"And besides," Hermione continued, "I found proof. It's…it's what I went back to the Burrow for."

Harry looked at her quizzically, and she took a deep breath and answered his unsaid question.

"I…dug up your grave. It was…it was Draco."

Harry's eyes went wide.

"You've got to understand," pleaded Hermione. "I was there when…. I mean, I found you – _Draco_ – with Mr. Weasley. The body had been hung up on Gringotts, and it had been…been mangled, but its face – he looked exactly like you. I don't know how they did it; Polyjuice Potion wouldn't have lasted. He had your Invisibility Cloak, and this…." Hermione slid the Mokeskin pouch across the table. She felt her eyes sting again as she fought to explain. "You have to understand…if there had been _any_ reason to think it might be a trick…. Harry, I'm so, _so_ sorry that we never looked for you, or…or…."

Hermione turned away in shame, and Harry reached across the table to take her hand.

"I don't blame you, Hermione," he said. "Any of you. It was a cleaver plan. And anyway, it's my own fault that I got caught."

Hermione smiled and squeezed his hand back.

"Wow," Harry added, his gaze distant. "Draco. I wonder if he knew when we.…" Harry seemed to gather himself and, shifting in his chair, left his question unfinished. Before Hermione could inquire, Harry appeared to realize something and he spoke again.

"Wait – I was buried…at the Burrow?"

"Yes. At a spot by the orchard, next to Fred. It's lovely there."

Harry released her hand, sat back in his chair, and seemed to struggle with something.

"Uh…wow," he said, appearing to blink back tears.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, no. It's just…I can't believe that they…would…."

"Harry," said Hermione, smiling warmly. "You were – _are_ – family to them. Of course they would want to...to keep you close."

"Do they…do they know?"

Harry asked with such obviously forced indifference that Hermione knew he must have been dying to know the answer all along.

"That you're alive? No. I haven't told them yet."

Harry didn't comment, but silently fidgeted with his pouch. He pulled from within it the remains of his wand, which had been broken while he and Hermione escaped the trap Voldemort had laid for him in Godric's Hollow. He considered the pieces for a moment, and then carefully sat them side-by-side on the table.

"Hermione, could I borrow your wand?"

"Well, yes," she said, handing it over. "But we've tried this before, Harry – it doesn't work."

"That was before," he countered, smiling. "_Reparo_!" he shouted, and he flicked Hermione's wand at his own. A flash of brilliant white light filled the room and left behind a solid, seemingly perfect wand. In addition, Hermione noticed that several scratches had been erased from the table.

Harry handed the borrowed wand back to its owner – who hesitantly lifted an arm to take it – and picked up his newly restored wand. Upon gripping it, a wide grin stretched across his face.

"It worked," he said. "I can tell."

"How," began Hermione, but then she shook her head. "You've _got_ to tell me how you can do these things, Harry. What I've seen you do…it shouldn't be possible."

"I will," he said, the smile fading from his face. "But not tonight. It's…kind of…part of a bunch of other things that will take some time to explain."

"Well," Hermione sighed, her insatiable thirst for knowledge left unquenched. "The important thing is that you're back, Harry." She was suddenly overcome with excitement. "Just wait until the others find out. Oh, Harry – Ron and Ginny are going to –"

"I…don't think it's going to be that easy," Harry interrupted.

"I know," said Hermione. "You can't just pop up; after the killings, everyone would probably try to blast you to bits before you could get a word in. I should go first; I can explain things –"

"That's not it, Hermione – well, not all of it. The Death Eaters knew that you were coming today; knew exactly how you planned to enter the grounds. I've been thinking this over since you left, and I can't come up with any answer but this: there must be a spy inside the Order."

Hermione shuddered at the thought that anyone involved with the fight against Voldemort could have betrayed them, but she could not disagree with Harry's assessment.

"And if You-Know-Who got word that I was at the Burrow…."

"But it's protected by a Fidelius Charm –"

"Still, I would be putting everyone in even worse danger."

"Then…what? You aren't thinking of…of staying _here_…."

"Well, no…I haven't figured it out yet. The truth is, I need to know what's going on, what You-Know-Who is up to and where he might be, and the best source of that kind of information is the Order. Is there a place that's a bit more secure than here, somewhere I can have to myself? You could go back to the Burrow and keep me filled in – I mean, if you're willing…."

"Of course I'll help, Harry, but…I can't think of anywhere else. There are a few other secure locations – like Shell Cottage – but those are all in use. But…but maybe you _can_ still go to the Burrow without anyone knowing that you are, well, you."

The idea had popped into Hermione's head out of nowhere, and before Harry could ask, she answered.

"Polyjuice Potion. I've been stockpiling it at my house for the Order. We could introduce you as…I don't know – a friend of mine, or something. Maybe I could get them to let you join up."

Harry considered this for a moment, and then nodded his approval of the plan.

"Yeah, that might work. It'd be…weird, I suppose. You know, being there with everyone at the Burrow, but not as myself…."

"Well, we could tell everyone eventually, once we've uncovered the spy. And I'm sure that we could trust Ron and Ginny straight away, and probably Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and –"

"No, I…I don't think so, Hermione. If we do this, I think we have to keep a tight lid on it."

"Not…not even Ron? Or Ginny? Harry, they –"

"Just let me…feel it out, okay? I mean, maybe the spy isn't really a _spy_, just someone that's been Imperiused, or…or something."

It appeared to Hermione that something else about letting Ron and Ginny in on the secret bothered Harry, but she was willing to let it go for now. The important thing was that Harry was back, and in one form or another, he would be rejoining them.

"Okay," she compromised. "We'll see how things go. But Harry...they took your death very hard. Ginny…."

Harry winced at the name, and held up a hand to stop Hermione from going any further.

"I know," he said.

"I'm…not sure that you do. We _will_ tell them, right? Just as soon as we can be sure it's safe?"

Harry folded his arms and seemed to stare through her for a moment, then gave a curt nod.

"Okay then," Hermione confirmed. "I can go to my house and get the Polyjuice –"

"Stay," said Harry, his suddenly fearful voice giving Hermione pause.

"I mean…it's hard being alone, in this house. It's just so…_quiet_ here. Like the chamber."

His wounded expression broke Hermione's heart. To have suffered through a year's imprisonment, all alone….

"Of course I'll stay, Harry. I was just about to say that I will get the potion from home tomorrow morning, and then we can find someone for you to disguise yourself as. This neighborhood is loaded with muggles; any one of them will probably do."

Harry looked away with an embarrassed smile. "Thanks, Hermione. It…it means a lot."

In that moment, Harry looked absolutely exhausted.

"Come on," Hermione said, and she took Harry's hand and led him out of the kitchen. "You're sleeping in a soft, warm bed tonight.

They climbed the stairs and entered Harry's room, at which point Hermione guided him to sit on his bed.

"I'll make a place on the floor and sleep right next to you."

"No, you take the bed," Harry protested, and he pulled her down to sit next to him. "I'll sleep on the floor."

"Harry Potter," said Hermione, adopting a tone of mock indignation, "You are sleeping on this bed if I have to stun you."

Harry scooted back to rest against the wall, yawned, and then grinned.

"You would, wouldn't you?"

She moved beside him, folded her arms, and smiled back as she looked him dead in the eyes.

"Try me."

"Yes mam," he replied, closing his eyes and still grinning.

"Wow," Hermione giggled. "You've changed. Since when does Harry Potter do what I –"

But Hermione was cut off when Harry's head fell against her shoulder – he was fast asleep. She stared at him for several minutes, watching his breathing slow and become more even, and marveled at the unexpected turns her life had taken.

In the past two days Hermione had returned to the magical world, reunited with Ron, nearly been killed by Voldemort himself, and miraculously gotten Harry back from the dead. And somehow, through it all, she had found herself again.

Their lives – and the world – were still in terrible danger, and the following days were sure to present more challenges and tough choices. But for the moment, Hermione allowed herself to think only of the boy next to her…allowed herself, for the first time in over a year, to hope.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Next:

The Burrow plays host to a number of new arrivals, including a strange new friend of Hermione's. But with the Death Eaters becoming more aggressive, and at least one of Voldemort's informants believed to have infiltrated the Order of the Phoenix, will the Weasleys take a chance on the unknown boy?

Coming soon, the sixth chapter in _The World I Leave Behind_, "Introductions."

"I can't do this . . . this isn't _right_ . . ."

"You've brought this on yourself, mate."

"You would be willing to risk that?"

"It . . . moved me, what you said."

"He's made you cry again."

"Why can't I ever just _tell_ you?"

"This is a friend of mine . . ."


	7. Chapter Six: Introductions

The surrounding trees were a red blur to Ron as he stormed from the Burrow and across the backyard. With each stride his anger grew, along with his determination to uncover the truth. His previous reservations about his course of action were gone, burned away in the blistering fire of his rage. He would not allow anything or anyone to be a potential danger to those he loved.

He passed the fence and crossed the hill beyond it, which brought the orchard into view, where Ron could see his brothers waiting for him in a wide circle. And there, at the center of the circle, stood the one who threatened to destroy everything – the one he had quickly learned to hate. Ron's long legs sped into a jog.

As he approached, his target spotted him. The boy's face lit up with a look of alarm, which pleased Ron as he ran the last few steps.

Ron pulled his fist back high over his shoulder, and then threw it down with all of the anger and frustration that had built inside him throughout the long, torturous day. A sharp _crack_ cut through the air as his punch slammed into the boy's jaw and knocked him to the ground. Ignoring the new pain in his hand, Ron bent down to grab his fallen enemy by his shirt collar, and cocked another fist.

If this is what it took to get the truth, then so be it. The fact that Ron enjoyed it was simply an added benefit.

**The World I Leave Behind**  
Chapter Six: Introductions

Ron had gotten out of bed that morning without a wake-up call for the first time in months. Groggier than usual due to the extra hours of sleep, he stumbled downstairs to take a hot shower and was only mildly more coherent when he returned to his room to get dressed. By the time he made his way to the kitchen it was ten o'clock.

The house appeared to be empty aside from his sister, who he found reading a book at the kitchen table with an empty glass placed in front of her. Ron noticed that she had forgone her usual worn-out jeans and t-shirt in favor of fashionable black shorts and a rather pretty, summery white top. Also, her hair was more carefully combed than usual, and the overall effect was quite nice. Ginny rarely put any effort into her appearance any more, and Ron briefly wondered if he had failed to remember some special occasion. When he entered the room, she looked up at him and smiled.

"Where's everyone at?" Ron mumbled. "Where's mum?"

"Good morning to you, too," replied Ginny, with a tone of mock indignation.

"Sorry. 'Morning."

Ginny grinned again and laid her book on the table.

"Mum is upstairs looking after dad. He's a lot better this morning, but Madame Pomfrey wants him to stay off his feet for a day or two; she left to take professor McGonagall over to Bill's. Percy's with George out back, who said he needed to 'work the kinks out' now that his bones have mended. Mind you, he'll need to down another bottle of Skele-Gro when mum hears that he's out of bed before Pomfrey's cleared him."

Ron pulled his usual chair out from the table and sat down. He had only half-listened to Ginny's rundown of the morning's events while waiting for the one topic she hadn't addressed.

"Where's Hermione?"

Ginny's smile stayed in place, but she hesitated for a second as her eyes flicked to the clock on the wall.

"She went to check on her parents. She'll be back by noon."

"Oh. All right."

Ron felt disappointment, quickly followed by anxiety. Nothing seemed especially wrong, but there was something forced about his sister's smile as she broke eye contact with him. Ron glanced at the clock – noon was less than two hours away – and decided to ignore the uneasy feeling in his gut.

He sighed and moved on to the next most important topic that came to mind.

"Where's breakfast?"

The strange tension that had risen was abruptly defused, and Ginny chuckled. "Breakfast was hours ago, sleepyhead."

Ron's worried expression made Ginny laugh again, even as she rolled her eyes. "Honestly," she said with a dramatic sigh, and then she stood and walked to the stove. With a few quick flicks of her wand, she put some strips of bacon into a pan and cracked several eggs.

"Thanks, Ginny," Ron said, relieved. "You're a lifesaver."

"God forbid that you should ever take responsibility for that monster you call a stomach," she chided, although she seemed amused.

Ron grinned as Ginny continued to work at the stove, and let his gaze drift to the kitchen window. The sun was already high in the clear blue sky; a picture-perfect summer day appeared to be in order. It seemed an odd contrast to the terrible events of the previous day; like waking up from a nightmare. The bacon began to hiss and pop, and soon delicious smells filled the room, causing Ron's "monster" to growl in anticipation.

"Ron," Ginny said, breaking the dreamy daze he had begun to slip into. He looked to see that her attention was currently on turning the bacon.

"Hm?"

"I was actually . . . well, waiting for you. I want to apologize for how I've acted these past few days. I know that I've been a bit mental . . . even more than usual." Ginny added a short laugh, but Ron could hear the sadness hidden in her voice.

"Don't worry about it," he replied, trying his best to sound indifferent. "It's been a crazy week. I even saw dad go mental a few days ago." Ginny smiled again as she turned off the stove.

She moved the contents of Ron's breakfast to a plate, added a fork, poured two glasses of juice, and brought it all to the table. Ron tucked in before Ginny had retaken her seat across from him.

"Mmm," Ron moaned appreciatively between forkfuls of eggs. "Mum had better watch her back if you're going to cook like this."

"It's just bacon and eggs, Ron," Ginny said dismissively, although the compliment seemed to please her. "You could make it, too, if you'd get off your lazy bum."

"And deprive you of the chance to showcase such amazing talent? That'd just be wrong."

Ginny rolled her eyes again as she lifted her new glass and took a drink. She placed it back on the table but continued to hold its base with both hands, as if she were examining it. She was quiet for a few moments, and when she spoke again, her eyes remained on the distraction in her fingers.

"So . . . you and Hermione seem to be getting along well enough."

Ron's jaw stopped in mid-chew. So far Ginny appeared to be in one of her better moods, but he sensed that he was entering dangerous territory. He flinched at the memory of her reaction to finding Hermione in his room two days ago, and took his time as he finished chewing his food, stalling while he grasped for a safe response. Ron finally swallowed and, out of time, settled for the best answer he'd come up with.

"Yeah."

Ginny took a moment and then looked up at him. Her eyebrows creased and her head tilted to the side in thought, letting thick strands of her long hair slip from her shoulder to the table.

"Just like that, huh?"

Ron looked at her apologetically, although he wasn't entirely sure why he felt compelled to act as if he had done something wrong.

"I guess so."

Ginny didn't press him further, but Ron knew that she deserved more of an answer. She had been there for him when Hermione went away – had put up with his moping and listened to him gush about thoughts and feelings he never would have imagined he'd share – and she had stuck with him ever since.

"I mean," Ron expounded, "she really does seem to regret leaving, and . . . she's been through a lot." His tone had become defensive, but Ginny's face remained calm. "We haven't talked about things very much, but . . . I _think_ she feels the same way about me. But either way, I don't have much of a choice, do I?" He sighed. "I mean, it's _Hermione_." Ron said the last part a bit sheepishly, and ducked his head down to devour more bacon.

He chanced a peek at his sister's face and was relieved to find a smile there. It seemed a little sad, Ron thought, but she definitely wasn't upset.

"I'm happy for you, Ron . . . truly. If you're _sure_. I just worry about my big brother, you know?"

Ron felt a wave of gratitude and affection for his sister. Although he would have stayed with Hermione without Ginny's approval, it meant a lot that he didn't have to choose between them.

"Thanks, Ginny."

"I'm glad that she's back, too," said Ginny. "It just . . . kind of . . . _feels_ right, having her around. Like a part of life is back to normal."

"I know exactly what you mean," smiled Ron, taking the last bite of his breakfast. Having successfully navigated difficult waters, he leaned back in his chair and felt that it was safe to look at Ginny properly. His unusually good mood faltered a bit when he noticed the telltale darkening under her eyes.

"Have a rough night?"

Ginny shrugged. "Nothing new."

"Is there anything I can –"

"No," Ginny answered with an attempt at a reassuring smile. "Thanks, but no."

Ron kept his eyes on Ginny's as she turned her attention to taking another drink of juice. He felt a twinge of guilt as he realized that Hermione's return had left Ginny alone in a way. Ron and his sister had suffered through their heartaches together, and while the person he loved had come back, Ginny's never would. Ron couldn't think of any words to comfort her, but he was on the verge of speaking anyway when she cut him off.

"I forgot to mention that we're getting new arrivals today," she said, staring aimlessly into her glass. "Since the Death Eaters somehow got wind of the plan to raid Hogwarts, the Order is cracking down on security. Only top members are allowed at Shell Cottage from now on; there's a big meeting there this afternoon."

"This after –? Why didn't anybody tell _me_?" Anger flared up within Ron. After all he had lost, after throwing himself into his training, the Order was going to cut him out? Hadn't he proven himself during the mission? Hadn't it been he that killed Nagini, finishing off the last of Voldemort's Horcruxes?

"I'm sure that Bill will tell us everything afterward," said Ginny in a reassuring voice. "They're only including senior members; nobody close to our age will be there. Bill probably just doesn't want to be seen playing favorites."

Ron looked away and shook his head. As much as he didn't like the situation, he knew that Ginny was probably right. He took a deep breath and his temper cooled.

"Who's coming?" he asked, in a forced effort to change the subject.

"Mostly people that we don't really know, I think. Well, other than Seamus and Dean."

Ron perked up at the last name, and Ginny rolled her eyes at his reaction.

"Don't start," she warned.

"Don't start what?"

"About Dean."

"Well, why not?" Ron pressed. Ginny wasn't smiling anymore.

"You used to fancy him, right? I mean, of course you did; you went out."

"And broke up," Ginny added, coolly.

"Yeah, well, Dean was all right though, wasn't he? And you said that the last time you went to Shell Cottage, you saw him there. You said –"

"That he told me he regretted splitting up. I remember, Ron. I wish I hadn't told you."

"Look, I don't mean to go on and on about it, but think about it, Ginny. He's not a bad bloke. It might not be a bad idea to, y'know . . . get on with . . . things."

Ginny's glare sent Ron backpedaling.

"That didn't come out right," he said, holding up his hands in gesture of peace. "What I meant to say was –"

"Since when do you play matchmaker for your little sister?" Ginny interrupted. "You weren't exactly thrilled when I dated Dean the first time."

"Well, maybe I've grown up a bit. I just want what's best for you Ginny, and a little change – _any_ kind of change – could be a good thing. I mean, you've spent a year just keeping to yourself and being miserable, and I hate seeing you like that."

Ginny said nothing, but sat calmly with an unfathomable look in her eyes. Ron had begun to brace for a row, but the unexpected silence made him lose his nerve. She was either deciding the perfect curses and swear words to use on him, or he had somehow hurt her. Ron shuddered at either possibility.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Just forget it. I'll keep my stupid mouth shut from now on."

Ginny stared at Ron for a moment longer, then sighed and looked away. She idly lifted her glass halfway to her mouth before realizing that it was empty, and then returned it to the table. She stood up, walked around to stand behind Ron's chair, and bent over to hug his neck.

"Don't worry about me, okay?" she said softly beside his ear. "You're getting what we both wanted, a second chance. Make the most of it. I'll be rooting for you." She gave Ron a quick peck on the cheek and then walked out of the room.

Her self-sacrificing kindness just made Ron feel worse. He felt like he was letting his sister down, although he couldn't put his finger on exactly how. Was he meddling too much or not getting involved enough? It could be so hard to tell with Ginny, who usually suffered in silence so that she wouldn't worry the family, especially their mother. Everyone could tell that she still wasn't okay, but they had no idea just how deeply she was in pain. While Ron and Ginny had leaned on each other for support during the past year, Ginny had, on a few occasions, let her mask slip fully and given Ron a glimpse at just how much she was hurting. It stung Ron to remember those times.

Ginny only lost control in front of others when Harry was involved, which had been the case the day before when they learned of the murders the Death Eaters had committed in Harry's name. Ron knew that Ginny's reaction had severely shaken their mum.

Ron's troubled thoughts left him with an even stronger need to see Hermione. The clock showed that it was only a quarter past ten. Despite his late rise, Ron felt that it was going to be a very long morning.

* * * * * * *

Ron had been right – the following hour-and-a-half felt like an entire day as time dragged slowly by. Waiting for Hermione left him too distracted to give his daily training exercises a proper effort, so he skipped everything but his usual laps around the Burrow's protected areas. He pushed himself to run harder and longer than usual in an effort to burn away more time. Afterward, he was sore enough – and sweaty enough – to need a second hot shower. He took his time soaking in the water and then getting dressed again, but he was still left with half an hour to kill before noon.

As he descended the stairs, Ron heard his mother's excited voice coming from the sitting room.

"Ooh, it's _lovely_, Dean! Ginny, put it on – I'm dying to see how it looks on you!"

Ron winced; this couldn't be good.

"Um, allow me, Ginny," came Dean's voice, which sounded a little uneasy. Ron could easily picture his sister's face – burning red with embarrassment, anger, or both – as her unwanted suitor helped her with whatever gift he'd brought.

Ron took a deep breath, went down the last few steps, and continued on to the source of the commotion. As he entered the room, Ron was surprised to find it full of people.

Ginny sat rigidly in a chair at the center of the room, holding her hair to the side as Dean nervously tried to clasp a thin, silver chain around her neck, upon which dangled a small, clear, heart-shaped stone. It was humble, but pretty. Ron's mum stood a few feet away with clasped hands raised to her chest, beaming at the couple. His dad sat in an armchair next to her; he looked weak, but Ron was relieved to see him out of bed. Percy and George were also there, along with a few faces Ron didn't recognize that he took to be the other visitors Ginny had mentioned at breakfast. Seamus stood behind Dean with a broad grin directed at his best friend. Ron thought that he might find the scene of Dean anxiously fumbling with the necklace a bit funny, too, if he didn't know how difficult it must be for Ginny.

Her face was flushed as Ron had expected, and she wore the worst imitation of a smile that he had ever seen her attempt. Her eyes flickered to his immediately, and her eyebrows raised a fraction of an inch. Ron doubted that anyone else had noticed the change, but he could read the panic in her eyes.

"There, that's finally got it," said Dean. He looked somewhat relieved as he straightened up, and Ginny let her long hair fall down her back.

"Um . . . thank you, Dean," Ginny said hesitantly as she fingered the stone that now hung from her neck.

"It's gorgeous!" gushed Mrs. Weasley. "It sets your hair off perfectly, Ginny."

"That was very thoughtful of you, Dean," added Mr. Weasley, who wore a tired, but genuine, smile.

George gave an impressed whistle, slapped Dean on the shoulder and said, "Nice one, mate." Percy smiled and added an approving nod.

Despite everyone's overly enthusiastic reactions, Dean appeared to be nearly as uncomfortable in the spotlight as Ginny. He stood awkwardly at her side and cast his eyes about the room, looking everywhere but at her. Ron figured that anyone would have a tough time making a move like that with so many people watching, and that Dean couldn't have forgotten the entirely opposite reaction he had received from Ginny's brothers when he first dated their sister.

Ginny looked back at Ron, and her pleasant façade cracked a bit further. Her eyes, now clearly mismatched with her frozen smile, quietly screamed _help me_.

"Dean!" Ron called, without knowing what his next words would be. He crossed the room to shake his old dorm-mate's hand, and Dean seemed thankful for the interruption.

"How've you been, mate?" Ron said excitedly. "I haven't seen you in ages! Hey, Seamus!" Ron moved to greet his other old friend as well, and in doing so, positioned himself in such a way that Dean had to turn his back on Ginny to follow him.

"Good to see you too, Ron," Dean replied warmly. "It's been ages since you came by our place – I mean, your _brother's_ place. Sorry, but I've been stuck at Shell Cottage for so long that I tend to think of it as home now."

"It's been driving us both bloody crazy," added Seamus, who also shook Ron's hand. "No offense to Bill – he and Fleur go out of their way to make everyone feel welcome – but I can't tell you how glad we are to be out of there."

"I know what you mean," said Ron. "This place might look good now," Ron gestured around the room, "but give it awhile and you'll be just as sick of it." Out of the corner of his eye, Ron saw Ginny quietly stand from her chair and quickly exit the room. A few pairs of eyes followed her and Ron's mother reached for her as she passed, but no sound gave away her escape to Ron's former classmates.

The very next moment, however, Dean glanced back at where Ginny had sat to find an empty chair. He quickly scanned the rest of the room, in which the gathered Weasleys and their guests were beginning to converse amongst themselves. Dean's shoulders slumped, and he let out a long sigh as he turned back to face Seamus.

"I _told_ you it was too soon," Dean accused in a low voice.

"What?" asked Seamus, who then repeated Dean's look around the room. "Oh."

"I'm sure that she'll be back in just a bit," Ron said in an attempt to smooth over Ginny's departure. "She probably just had to, um . . ."

"Did you see it?" Dean whispered to Seamus, ignoring Ron. He glanced around to make sure that everyone else had stopped paying attention to him. "It didn't glow at all. Not one little bit."

"Well," shrugged Seamus, whose mischievous smirk had disappeared. "It probably doesn't even work; you know how those kinds of things don't always act like they're supposed to. And this one wasn't exactly new . . ."

"What are you two going on about?" Ron interjected.

"Well," Dean said reluctantly, looking embarrassed again. "The necklace that I gave Ginny . . . it's charmed. It's supposed to . . ."

Dean's explanation stalled out, but Seamus took over.

"It's supposed to light up when someone that you fancy is close by; the brighter the light, the stronger the connection. But it must've been a sham," he added, turning to Dean. "She seemed really interested when you two had that chat back at Shell Cottage."

"So _you_ said," Dean sighed. "I can't believe I let you talk me into this."

Ron tried to imagine what Ginny could have done to give Seamus the wrong idea and figured that she probably just overdid her usual act at being happy.

"I'm sure that everything's fine," Ron said with a reassuring slap on Dean's back. "I'll go see if I can find out how long Ginny will be; she probably just went to the loo or something."

Dean and Seamus carried on their whispered conversation as Ron walked out of the room. He didn't have to go far to find Ginny, who was in the hallway by the front door. She stood frozen with her head down and a hand on the doorknob.

"Going somewhere?"

Ginny started at Ron's voice, but appeared to relax a little when she saw him.

"What the hell happened in there?" Ron asked. "Where did everybody come from?"

"It was _mental_," said Ginny. Her face was still red but almost blank with shock. She shook her head as she spoke, and her eyes wandered distractedly. "I heard someone use the floo, so I went into the room and found Dean, Seamus, and the others who had just come over from Bill's. We talked for a bit and then Dean said he had something for me."

Ginny paused to take a deep breath.

"So, he pulled me aside and started to give me _this_," Ginny tugged at the slender chain around her neck. "I mean, what was he thinking? We'd barely said hello . . . Well, mum came in and caught sight of us, and before I could get a word in she made this big production of it and everyone came around to see what she was going on about. I was going let Dean down easy before she butted in, but then everybody was staring and Dean looked so nervous . . . and I just couldn't. You should have heard everyone gushing over him – mum and dad were acting like Dean was a dear old family friend, George kept laughing like everything Dean said was hilarious, and Percy wouldn't stop shaking his hand. I didn't think any of them were that close with Dean . . ."

Ginny blinked, and then her eyes widened as they shot to Ron's face.

"My whole family is trying to set me up." She said the words breathlessly, sounding horrified.

"And _you_," she continued, with an accusing glare at Ron. "This morning . . ."

"Hey, I don't have anything to do with this," Ron defended. "I didn't even know that Dean was coming. I – oh . . ." Ron grimaced.

"What?"

"Well, actually . . . yeah, maybe it kind of . . . sort of . . . _is_ my fault. I didn't mean for any of this," he added quickly, "but I _might_ have mentioned your chat with Dean to mum. Sorry, Ginny – I didn't think it was a big deal."

There was a long pause as Ginny continued to stare at him. She didn't appear to be angry, however. In fact, she sounded almost scared when she said her next words, which were barely more than a whisper.

"Ron, I'm not ready for this . . ."

Before she could say any more, and before Ron could begin to think of any comforting words, the heart-shaped stone that hung from Ginny's neck lit up like a camera flash, but brighter – like lightning – and cracked down the middle. Partly blinded, they turned in unison at the sound of the front door opening.

Hermione stood before them in the doorway, next to a boy that Ron didn't recognize. Ron didn't immediately take in the stranger's appearance as his eyes feasted on the girl in front of him.

In that moment, Ron fully realized just how worried he had been that Hermione would not come back. A significant part of him – most of him, really – didn't trust her to keep her word. This bothered Ron enough to keep him rooted to the spot when his first impulse had been to rush forward, wrap his arms around her, and lift her off her feet.

Ron's worries and hesitation melted away instantly, however, when Hermione said his name. Her face lit up with a glowing smile, as if the simple act of speaking the name somehow gave her pleasure. Grinning back, Ron stepped forward and met her outstretched arms with a hug.

"Hey," Ron greeted her. "I missed you this morning." He immediately felt a little embarrassed at his candid admission, but he didn't care too much as Hermione squeezed him back.

"Sorry," said Hermione, who pulled back just enough to look up into Ron's eyes while still held inside his arms. "I missed you, too," she added shyly. They gazed at each other for several seconds until Ginny cleared her throat.

"Oh," Hermione started, and Ron – suddenly remembering that they weren't alone – stepped back and grinned apologetically at his sister. Upon seeing her, he noticed that she seemed uncomfortable. Her arms were folded defensively, and her eyes appeared to flit nervously between the doorway and random corners of the hall. Following her glances, Ron spotted the stranger – who he'd momentarily forgotten – and found him openly staring at Ginny.

"Hey," Ron called, and a moment later, the boy's eyes finally broke free of Ginny to look at him.

Hermione's companion appeared to be around the same age as the rest of them, although Ron didn't remember ever seeing him at Hogwarts. But then again, he looked about as normal and nondescript as one could be – he was average height with an average build and wore jeans, trainers, and a plain black t-shirt. Even with his sandy blonde hair, it was easy to imagine him getting lost in a crowd.

"Ron," Hermione said, suddenly sounding tense. "This is a friend of mine . . ."

"Hi," the boy interjected, and timidly held out his hand to Ron.

Warily, Ron took the hand and shook it. "Ron Weasley," he said, introducing himself.

Ron glanced at Hermione, who was smiling brightly at the both of them. Ron didn't quite understand her expression, and was baffled when she appeared to wipe away a tear.

The boy, too, wore a grin that was a bit wider than the situation called for. He continued to stare intently at Ron and shook his hand for much longer than was socially comfortable. Eventually, Ron had to pull his hand away. "And you are . . .?"

"Oh . . . right," the boy replied. "My name is, um . . ." His eyes glanced back at Ginny, and then he closed them and shook his head as if he were distracted. He kept smiling, but his brow furrowed. "My name is . . . James." He opened his eyes to look at Ron again and chuckled awkwardly.

For some reason, Ron recalled the first time he had been caught by snatchers, when he whipped up a fake name on the spot by borrowing one from somebody he knew.

He looked to Hermione and found her pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, with her eyes squeezed shut; like she was unhappy with the way her friend had responded.

"_James_ . . .?" Ron repeated, in a tone that indicated he was waiting for a last name.

"Foster," Hermione answered, before the boy had a chance. "I'd like you both to meet my friend, James Foster."

"Nice to meet you, James," said Ginny, who eyed him cautiously but cordially offered her hand.

James stared at Ginny's hand like he didn't understand the gesture, and then looked away from her completely, turning his eyes toward the ground. "Um, you, too," he muttered.

Ron considered James's reaction to be rude, and again looked to Hermione, as if she were responsible for the boy's behavior. He expected to see his own dismay mirrored in her face, but instead he found . . . concern? Sadness? Ron couldn't be sure, as neither reaction made sense.

"Oh," came a startled gasp from just behind Ron. "Who are you?"

Molly Weasley moved to stand beside her son in the suddenly cramped hall. Her expression was unusually wary; it wasn't at all the warm, cheerful face that she always wore when welcoming guests.

James seemed startled by her appearance, and he stared at her blankly for a moment before another surprisingly warm grin stretched across his face.

"My name is James Foster. It's very nice to meet you, Mrs. Weasley."

His introduction was disregarded as Molly went straight to her next question.

"How did you get through the wards?"

Ron gaped at his mother, who was eyeing their surprise guest with open suspicion. Ron felt a sudden sense of alarm – the Fidelius charm shouldn't have allowed James to see the Burrow, much less enter it, and the spell was just one of many that were supposed to be protecting their home.

James's smile slid away, and he turned an inscrutable look to Hermione, who appeared apprehensive as she glanced back at him.

"That . . . didn't occur to me," she said. Hermione seemed uncharacteristically caught off guard, as if she had finally been called upon to answer a question that she did not know the answer to.

Hermione looked around the room at three pairs of eyes, all looking intensely between her and the stranger she had brought to the heart of the Order of the Phoenix.

"M-maybe –"

Hermione's voice cracked, so she cleared her throat and tried again.

"Maybe he somehow got through . . . because he was with me?" she offered feebly.

Ginny shook her head and countered instantly.

"That wouldn't work – only the Secret Keeper can get people through."

Ginny's response didn't seem to surprise Hermione at all.

"No, of course you're right," she said. She dropped her eyes to the floor and appeared to be deep in thought.

"_Arthur_!"

All heads snapped to Mrs. Weasley at the sudden sound of her call. She had turned to shout back down the hall, toward the room where her husband was presumably still sitting.

They waited in a tense silence for several long moments, until Arthur Weasley – still clearly weakened from his injuries – slowly made his way to them. Something in Molly's voice must have alarmed Ron's brothers, because both George and Percy walked alongside their father, helping him with steadying hands.

"What is –"

But before the Weasley patriarch could finish his question, he saw the boy standing next to Hermione by the doorway.

"Arthur," Molly began, placing a hand on her husband's arm while they booth stared at James. "Hermione just arrived with . . . with James, here, who came straight inside the wards. I don't see how . . ."

"Boys, come with me," said Mr. Weasley to Percy and George, his voice a command. "We'll check the wards. Molly, floo Bill and tell him that we may have a problem." He shook loose Percy's hand and strode purposefully to the door. "Excuse me," he added with a glance at James, who stepped aside. Percy and George cast suspicious looks at the boy as they passed, and then stopped behind their father, who paused in the doorway.

"Er, James, is it?" he said, looking over his shoulder at the boy who stood at Hermione's side. At James's nod, Arthur continued. "Why don't you and Hermione wait for us in the kitchen." He didn't wait for the boy's response, but exited the house with his sons at his heels, the door swinging shut behind them.

Mrs. Weasley immediately turned to Ron. "Show Hermione and her friend to the kitchen," she said. "I'll just be a moment."

Ron agreed and his mother hurried off, he presumed, to pass the news along to Bill. Ginny – who had, as usual, been given nothing to do – followed her. Ron caught James looking at his sister again the moment she turned away.

Ron glanced at Hermione, who gave him a worried, regretful look, and then the three of them walked through the house in silence. When they reached the kitchen, Ron plopped into in a chair at the table. James sat across from him, and Hermione chose a spot in the middle, at the head of the table. There was more uncomfortable silence.

"I'm, ah, sorry to have caused so much trouble," James said, tentatively. Ron looked over to see the boy smiling awkwardly. Hermione kept her eyes down.

"Well," Ron began, not certain how he should feel toward this mysterious newcomer that had sent his family into a mild state of panic. "If the wards aren't working, I suppose it's better to find out like this than if a bunch of Death Eaters suddenly showed up in the front yard."

"That's true," Hermione said with a hopeful voice. The room fell quiet again. Ron turned uncomfortably in his chair. Hermione's face scrunched up in concentration, as if she were trying to solve the mystery of the wards herself – which, knowing Hermione, Ron figured she probably was. James, meanwhile, looked around the room as if he found every mundane detail of their rundown kitchen fascinating.

"So," Ron said, simply to break the silence. "You're a friend of Hermione's?"

"Yeah," said James. "She's the only witch – or wizard, for that matter – that lives near me."

"S'funny that she never mentioned you," Ron said, glancing at Hermione. She looked back at him.

"Well, I only met James this past year, since I went back home." Hermione shuffled in her seat upon raising the touchy subject of her departure. "He's aided me with some of the potions that I've brewed for the Order. He's been a very big help," she added, with a smile toward the boy. Ron suddenly found himself very irritated at James.

Something prickled in the back of Ron's mind. Hadn't Hermione said that she ran away to _escape_ the wizarding world? That none of them could help her or visit her, Ron included? And yet this _James_ was apparently allowed over . . . Who _was_ he?

"You didn't go to Hogwarts," Ron said in a cold voice. It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact.

"No, I'm home-schooled." James seemed to grow more uncomfortable at the subject.

"Where are your parents?" Ron asked.

"They . . . died."

"Oh," Ron said, caught off guard. "Sorry."

James shrugged. "A lot of people have died in this war; that's why I want to do whatever I can to help stop it." He looked up and his eyes were filled with so much emotion and determination that Ron had no reason to doubt his sincerity.

"I thought that James might be able to join up," Hermione explained. "As I said, he can be a lot of help, and he's got as much of a stake in things as anyone."

Ron felt another twinge of something. Was it . . . anger? Jealousy? Wasn't it enough that the boy had been with Hermione during the past year, just the two of them? Now he had to invade Ron's home, too?

"Well, it isn't up to me," Ron said, curtly.

His tone caused James and Hermione to exchange worried glances, which only angered him further. The two of them were in this situation together, whereas Ron felt like he was on the outside. After reveling in having Hermione back, he now felt cut off from her.

After a minute of the most unpleasant silence yet, James spoke again.

"I really do apologize for being such a bother . . ."

Just then, the kitchen's back door opened and Mr. Weasley stepped into the room, followed by George and Percy, all of whom were stone faced.

"Ron – a quick word."

Ron rose from the table at his father's request, leaving James's apology unacknowledged. Without looking back, he followed Mr. Weasley out into the backyard, all the way to the fence, while his brothers stayed inside. Ron was grateful for an excuse to get out of the house; he felt extremely agitated. He was so preoccupied, in fact, that at first he didn't realize that his father had spoken to him.

"Sorry, what?"

"I said," repeated Mr. Weasley, "what do you know about this 'James' fellow?"

"Nothing, really; I only just met him. He said that he was home-schooled and lives near Hermione's parents. He's been helping her with potions. His parents died, and he wants to join the Order. That's all I know."

Mr. Weasley responded with a simple "Hm." His tired, worried face looked out across the fence to a line of trees in the distance.

"Should you really be up and about?" Ron asked, studying his father's pale complexion. Ron didn't get an answer, but a question in return.

"Do you think Hermione might have told him about the plan to raid Hogwarts?"

Ron was stunned at what the question implied, but he realized that – had he not been annoyed with James for other reasons – this should have been the first point he considered. Still, Ron quickly felt the need to defend Hermione against such a terrible accusation.

"Hermione's not stupid. She wouldn't have put us – or herself – at any kind of risk." As he spoke, however, Ron thought of how Hermione's actions over the previous year didn't speak well for her judgment.

"Still," Mr. Weasley continued, "he could have had access to plans and information, being in her house. And we really don't know much of anything about him."

"You think he's the leak?" Ron asked, defiantly. He was daring his father to say that Hermione had somehow been responsible for the trap that had nearly cost them their lives.

"I'm only saying that it bears looking into," his father said calmly. "We can't be too careful these days. And I'm sorry, Ron – I care a great deal about Hermione, too – but she shouldn't have brought him here like this."

Ron felt mutinous. He wanted to argue, to reject any notion that Hermione had in any way acted wrongly – but he couldn't. His father was right.

Mr. Weasley sighed.

"The protections appear to be working properly, as far as I can tell. I can't imagine how he got through – it doesn't make any sense. We'll have Bill check this afternoon."

"You're not going to the meeting?" Ron guessed.

"No, doctor's orders – I'm not allowed out of bed." Mr. Weasley gave a worn smile and put an arm around his son's shoulders. "Come on, let's go back inside."

They made their way back across the yard with Ron shouldering some of his father's weight. When they reentered the house, Ron saw that his brothers had remained in the kitchen as if standing guard over James and Hermione, who had not moved. Ron caught Hermione's eye, and she appeared to have progressed from being worried to being frightened. Ron fought back the anger that surged forth toward his brothers. His father was right; it was smart to be careful.

"James," said Mr. Weasley, genially. "We haven't been properly introduced. My name is Arthur Weasley." Ron noticed that, while his father's tone was polite, he didn't extend his hand.

"I'm afraid that your arrival has caused a bit of a problem. You see, with the Death Eaters looking for people like us, protection and secrecy are absolutely critical. As I am sure you are now aware, outsiders such as yourself shouldn't be able to penetrate the charms that have been put on this house. Until we find out exactly what went wrong, we need to be extra cautious. So, while you're here, I am going to have to ask for your wand."

Percy stepped toward the boy's chair and held out his hand expectantly.

"Oh," Hermione started, flustered. "Is that really . . . I mean, surely James can't –"

"It's fine, Hermione," said James, who slid back his chair and stood up. Percy took an automatic step back at the sudden action and George flinched forward, but James quickly produced his wand and handed it over. Ron only caught a glimpse of the wand since James's back was to him, but Percy pocketed it and seemed satisfied. James turned back to Mr. Weasley and once again spoke with irrefutable sincerity.

"I understand the need to be careful, and I'm happy to do whatever you need me to. The last thing I want to do is cause problems – I want to help."

"I appreciate that, James," said Mr. Weasley, and then he gave a reassuring smile to Hermione, who looked hopelessly apologetic. Ron wanted to absolve her of her guilt, to tell her that she had done nothing wrong – to lie – but an annoyed glance at James kept his mouth closed.

"Molly will probably start lunch soon," Mr. Weasley added, "so we should clear out of the kitchen. Boys?" At his prompt, Percy and George followed their father through the doorway. As they left, Percy narrowed his eyes at James and George gave Hermione a supportive pat on the shoulder.

Ron remained standing as Hermione and James relaxed in their chairs; they appeared drained.

"Well," Hermione breathed, "that was . . ."

"Yeah," James agreed.

They rose to their feet and Hermione walked over to stand before Ron with her hands clasped nervously in front of her. He looked into her wide, brown eyes, which again seemed to be filled with apology and . . . something else. Despite her rash actions and her disturbing connection to this other boy, Ron couldn't be upset with her when she looked at him like this, with such care and vulnerability. With a deep breath and a resigned smile, he led her out of the room with James following behind them.

* * * * * * *

The excitement that had followed James's arrival caused lunch to run late, but once Mrs. Weasley got things going, she had a meal prepared in no time. The moment the food was ready, Ron, Hermione, and James returned to the kitchen. Ron had practically leapt from his chair in the sitting room, where he and his two companions had spent fifteen of the most uncomfortable minutes he could ever remember.

James was the only one who had tried to start a conversation, occasionally bringing up the weather, the Burrow, or something else that Ron found just as uninteresting. Hermione had again positioned herself in a chair between James and Ron, and seemed overeager to please them both, quickly agreeing with anything that was said and showing intense interest in even the most trivial chitchat. Anyone else that came near them stared at James, and a couple of people openly watched his every move. James never met their glares, but Ron could tell that the boy knew they were looking by the way he would fidget in his seat.

For his part, Ron had sat quietly and fumed. The idea that Hermione had spent time with a wizard other than himself festered inside him, and he felt his old insecurities come creeping back. He had believed her words of remorse and felt her affection for him when they touched, but Ron couldn't reconcile his previous certainty with this new turn of events. He knew that he needed to pull Hermione aside and talk to her in private before his hurt pride and overactive imagination made things seem worse than they probably were, but with every minute that passed – as his frustration and bitterness grew – Ron drew further into himself.

So, lunch came as a relief.

Ron sat at the end of the table this time and Hermione took the seat to his right with James on her other side. George and Percy were the first to join them, followed by Mr. Weasley and Ginny.

Ginny took a seat across from Hermione and the two exchanged pleasant smiles. When Ginny looked to James, however, he ignored her. In Ron's current state of mind, this apparent rudeness was tantamount to a slap in the face. Ron's quiet anger continued to boil.

Mrs. Weasley dutifully passed out sandwiches, and Ron took two. Bowls filled with more food were placed on the table, along with pitchers of water and juice and a set of empty glasses. Everyone helped themselves and soon engaged in amicable chatter as they ate. The three transfers from Shell Cottage whose names Ron didn't remember arrived shortly thereafter and had to take their plates to the sitting room since there weren't any spots left at the table.

Nobody spoke to Ron, Hermione, or James. They ate quietly until Hermione took a long drink of water, put down her glass, and directed a question at Ron.

"Any news today?"

Ron, his mouth full, glanced at Hermione and deflated once again at the warm, affectionate way she looked at him.

"Not yet," he replied, swallowing. "Maybe after Bill gets here."

"Anything that Bill might say is restricted information," interjected Percy in a stern voice. Everyone went silent.

"It's _Hermione_," said Ron, annoyed. His protective instinct again won out over the conflicting emotions that he felt toward the girl. "You know, our lookout from Hogwarts? The one who helped Bill figure out how to get past the wards?"

"Well," Percy replied, "that was before." He shot a dark look at James, who froze with his teeth bitten into his sandwich.

"Boys," warned Mr. Weasley.

Ron broke Percy's gaze and returned to his plate just as Dean and Seamus entered the kitchen.

"Sorry we're late," said Seamus, as all eyes turned toward them. "We were looking around out back."

Ron noticed Dean's sheepish expression and wondered if he hadn't tried to avoid lunch – and Ginny – after the embarrassing scene with the necklace. Seamus must have pressured him to come back inside.

"Oh," said Dean, who suddenly looked relieved. "I guess there isn't any more room – we'll just grab a plate and –"

George and Percy simultaneously pushed back their chairs and stood up.

"Don't be ridiculous, Dean," said George, who gave a huge grin. "Here, have my seat; I was nearly done, anyway."

"Seamus," Percy added, "you can sit here."

"Oh, we couldn't –" But before Dean could protest, George and Percy rushed from the room and Seamus took his seat. Dean eyed George's vacated chair warily – it was next to Ginny. With a deep breath and a smile, Dean sat down.

Mrs. Weasley immediately rose from her spot at the table and hurried around to fill Dean's plate for him. When she was finished, Ron doubted that even _he_ could have finished the obscene amount of food she had piled on. Despite his mood, Ron almost snickered at Dean's wide-eyed expression when his mother added, "There's plenty left for seconds, dear."

Ginny kept her eyes on her sandwich and Dean likewise avoided looking at her. Staring straight ahead, he caught James's eye.

"Hi, I'm Dean."

"James," said the boy, smiling. He half stood and began to extend his hand over the table, but realized that the reach was too far and awkwardly sat back down.

A few moments passed, and – unable to put it off any longer – Dean finally turned to Ginny. But whatever greeting was on his lips was lost when he spotted the heart-shaped stone that he had placed around her neck, which was now marred by a jagged line down its center.

"What happened?" he asked, appearing to have momentarily forgotten his hesitancy to speak.

"What?" asked Ginny, who then followed Dean's eyes to the stone. "Oh, that. I don't know. There was a big flash of light and then it just . . . cracked. I'm sorry."

"Oh. Well, hey – I should be the one to apologize, for giving you that piece of junk. If I'd known . . . Well, I'll just have to make up for it with something better." Dean flashed a brilliant smile and Ginny paled – Ron could tell that the thought of a second gift alarmed her even more than the first. "I guess it really was broken after all," Dean added in a low voice, as if speaking to himself. His confidence seemed to have returned.

"What?" said Ginny.

"Nothing. Again, I'm sorry, Ginny – really. Here, you don't have to wear it . . ."

Dean turned in his seat to search for the chain beneath Ginny's hair. Fixing her face with another stony smile, Ginny shifted to give him better access and pulled her long hair around over her shoulder. Dean's hands brushed against the exposed nape of her neck as he again struggled with the tiny clasp.

The sound of a chair quickly scraping across the floor brought Ron's attention to the other side of the table, where James had suddenly stood. His eyes were downcast as he pushed a hand through his air, seeming agitated. Hermione, wearing a face full of concern, reached for his hand but he pulled it away. Ron's fingers clinched into a fist.

"Sorry," said James, squeezing his eyes shut. "Um…bathroom." He swiftly turned and hurried away.

"It's just up the stairs, on the third floor," Hermione called to him. James hesitated in the doorway.

"Er, thanks," he said, without looking back, and then he left the room. Hermione continued to stare after him.

"It's the thought that counts, Dean," doted Mrs. Weasley, ignoring James's abrupt departure. "And Ginny, that's still a lovely chain."

* * * * * * *

When Ron finished eating, he finally broke away from Hermione and James and went to the front porch to be alone. The warm sun and soft summer breeze helped calm him after having endured the burning, corrosive emotions and suspicions that had twisted up inside him. It was easier to think clearly away from James – whose every action somehow got on Ron's nerves – and Hermione, with her doleful, puppy-dog looks at the boy.

_This is crazy_, Ron thought. _I'm not supposed to be a jealous, immature kid anymore. Why can't I just talk to her about it? _He sighed. _Because_, his inner voice answered, _underneath it all, you still believe that, if she really loved you, she never would have left in the first place_.

Ron's fragile self-image was about to take another dive when he caught sight of Bill and Charlie Apparating just beyond the wards. Ron remained apathetically on his spot while his brothers took a cursory look at the Burrow's protective spells. After a few minutes they approached, both wearing grim expressions.

"Hey Bill, Charlie," Ron greeted them. "What do you reckon?"

"Everything seems fine," shrugged Bill, glancing over his shoulder toward the invisible barrier. Turning back to Ron, he added, "Where is he?"

Ron didn't need to ask whom Bill meant. "Inside. C'mon, I'll introduce you."

Ron held the screen door open and they entered the house.

Hermione and James sat alone in the far corner of the sitting room, away from Dean, Seamus, and the other new arrivals who talked amongst themselves on the opposite side. They both stood when Ron and his brothers approached them. Hermione looked worried, and James wore a lesser, weakened version of the smile he'd used for his earlier introductions.

"Bill, Charlie," Ron said. "This is James Foster."

Bill shook James's hand stiffly. "Nice to meet you, James."

Charlie followed suit, but said nothing as he shook hands. He and Bill sat down and James and Hermione retook their seats. Ron pulled up a worn-out old ottoman and joined them.

"I'll be blunt," Bill began. "Someone in our organization has leaked information to the Death Eaters, and as it stands, James, you're our prime suspect."

Ron looked at Bill, surprised. Sure, the boy was fishy, but what proof did they have to make such a serious accusation?

"Bill," Hermione cut in, her voice trembling. "There's been some kind of mistake. I can't explain what happened with the Fidelius, but I can vouch for James – he's on our side."

"If getting past the charms was the only suspicious thing about him, that'd be worrying enough. But Hermione, he's been in your _house_, presumably while you were helping me prepare for the mission. Now, I've looked into everyone that was in on the plan, and I can't find a loose link anywhere in the chain. But _him_," Bill nodded toward James, "him I don't know."

James shifted uncomfortably in his chair but said nothing.

"Hermione," Bill continued. "I need to ask you something, and it's vital that you tell me the complete truth." Hermione seemed to tense under the pressure of Bill's stare. "Did you tell this boy anything about our plans?"

"Bill, _come on_," Ron objected.

"Well?" Bill pressed, ignoring him.

Hermione looked anxious as she drew in a deep breath, preparing to speak, but James answered first.

"Please, Bill – Hermione didn't do anything wrong. I'll be happy to do whatever you want in order to prove that you can trust me. Percy already took my wand, and I can keep inside the house, if you like. I don't want to cause any problems – just tell me what I need to do."

Bill surveyed James for a moment before responding.

"Would you submit to being questioned under Veritaserum?"

James was silent. He stared intently into Bill's eyes for several moments, and then looked away with a defeated expression.

"I can't do that."

Bill and Charlie both raised their eyebrows and exchanged a meaningful glance.

"Look," James explained, "I understand the need for caution, but that's . . . that's going too far. Yes, there are things that I don't want to share with everyone, but they are personal and have nothing to do with security here at the Burrow. I doubt that you would be willing to give someone unrestricted access to everything in your head, either."

"But I'm not a spy," Bill countered.

"Neither am I."

"You have to understand that I can't just take your word on that."

"Well, then," James said, rubbing his face dejectedly. "I'll just leave."

Hermione gasped, and her look of pure anguish at the thought of being apart from the boy hit Ron like a punch in the gut.

"It's too late for that, mate" said Charlie, speaking for the first time. "You've already seen and heard too much. We can't just let you walk away now."

A chill seemed to settle over the group – the situation had gotten very grim very fast.

"Well," Bill sighed, "since we don't have any Veritaserum, it's a moot point, anyway. But it's interesting to know that you wouldn't take it." He looked at James who stared back at him, both locked in a stalemate.

"C'mon," said Bill, with a look at his brothers. He stood, and Charlie and Ron rose with him. "I need to fill everyone in on the meeting we just had back at my place. Ron, find dad, mum, George, Perce – and Ginny, if she wants – and meet us up in your room. I figure that's the farthest place away from prying eyes." Bill looked pointedly at James.

"What about Hermione?" Ron asked.

Bill looked disbelievingly at his youngest brother, but it was Charlie who spoke.

"She stays down here with _him_," he said, waving a dismissive hand at James. "You can too, if you want."

Ron's brothers left him standing, torn between his family and the girl that he loved. Hermione stared up at him with quivering eyes that threatened to spill over with tears. Ron was about to apologize for his brothers' harsh words until – from the corner of his eye – he caught sight of James wearily rubbing the back of his neck. Anger flared again at the boy whose arrival had ruined everything, and Ron walked away.

* * * * * * *

Ron's foot tapped on the floor impatiently as he sat at the edge of his bed alongside his parents, while his siblings sat or stood around the rest of his cramped, overcrowded room. Under normal circumstances Ron would have hung on Bill's every word as he relayed information that had been passed between the senior members of the Order, but from the moment the meeting had started Ron regretted leaving Hermione. The vulnerable, fragile face he had left her with haunted him, and he tortured himself over the likelihood that his leaving had hurt her further. And Ron burned at the thought that he'd left her with _him_.

Ron vaguely heard Bill discuss recent Dementor sightings – some of which had occurred in areas fairly close to the Burrow – and took a little more notice at the news of a sudden and mysterious decrease in Death Eater activity. Bill worried that the decline could signal the calm before the storm, that Voldemort could be marshalling his forces for something major. At the very least it was unusual for things to have gone so quiet, and in the wake of the previous day's unprecedented attacks, any irregularity had everyone on edge.

After Bill finished speaking and answered a few questions, everyone got up and made to leave. Ron didn't notice that the meeting was over until his mum helped his dad rise from the bed. Mr. Weasley nearly toppled over and received a worried glare from his wife, who told her husband in no uncertain terms that he was to go straight to bed for more rest.

Mr. Weasley seemed fine again as the two of them crossed the room, but he didn't dispute her orders. They reached the door first, and upon opening it, Mr. Weasley called for Bill. Something about his tone compelled Ron to join them at the doorway, and he arrived with Bill just in time to see James hop the last few stairs to the ground floor and hurry off around the corner. Bill and his father traded a significant look.

"Bathroom again, you figure?" proposed Ron, but Bill rolled his eyes at him dismissively as their parents began to descend the staircase. Ginny, who was oblivious to the suspicious appearance, began to pass Ron on her way out. On impulse, Ron caught her arm and pulled her aside.

"Hey, how are you holding up?" Ron asked, suddenly determined not to let his own problems overshadow his sister's needs during what was clearly a rough time for her.

"Never better," she replied with a sarcastic smile.

"Ginny –"

"Really," Ginny said airily. "Everything just caught me by surprise before, that's all. I'm dealing with it. I'm fine, honest."

Ron scrutinized her for a moment. Even though he knew Ginny better than anyone, sometimes he still couldn't tell when she was covering something up.

"Well," he relented, "if you're sure." Ron gave his sister what was meant to be a supportive hug, but the gesture surprised her and she stood uneasily in his arms. Leaning in so that no one else could hear him, he whispered to her.

"You'll tell me if something's bothering you, right? I'm not going to let you get away with any more of this suffering-in-silence rubbish."

"You'll be the first to know," she said, rolling her eyes but smiling. She raised a hand to quickly tickle the side of Ron's waist and he jerked back instantly, letting her go.

"Now quit wasting time," Ginny said in a phony scolding voice, "and get back downstairs to that pretty brunette."

Ron's distress, which he had temporarily blocked out as he talked to Ginny, came back in full force. He watched her leave as a mix of conflicting emotions churned in his stomach: the need to rejoin Hermione versus the hesitancy to reenter a situation that was steadily getting worse.

But before Ron could ponder his next course of action, Charlie called his name. Ron looked up to find that all of his brothers had remained in the room, and at Bill's silent gesture, Ron closed the door.

"Things are all set at Gringotts," Bill whispered conspiratorially.

Ron wanted to groan in frustration. He knew how important this particular subject was, but it was the last thing he wanted to think about at the moment. And besides, it bothered him a great deal that they were keeping it from the rest of the family.

"The goblins are on board?" Percy asked.

"Enough of them," Bill confirmed.

The room went quiet as the impact of Bill's news set in. It was a major breakthrough, but none of them could feel especially jubilant about it.

"Well," Bill said after taking a deep breath, "back to the business at hand. We need to get to the bottom of this situation with James. He's either the leak – in which case we've found our man – or he's not, and we keep looking. But we have to know who we can trust, and we need to know _now_. I say that we press him as hard as we can; if he's innocent, it'll shake out."

"How far are we willing to go?" asked George.

"We don't have any truth potion," said Charlie, his arms folded. "Or anyone that could find out what we need through Legilimency." He looked uneasily between his brothers' faces. "We're going to have to do this the old-fashioned way."

"What, _beat_ a confession out of him?" Ron demanded. "That's what you're talking about, isn't it? Rough him up till he spills his guts?" As much as he disliked the boy, Ron was shocked that his brothers would consider the idea.

"I don't want it to come to that," stressed Bill, who looked to both Ron and Charlie as he spoke. "Maybe, with all of us together, we can put more pressure on him; intimidate him. Let's take him out back away from everyone else, ask him some questions and see how he reacts."

"But if he won't cooperate, how far do we go, then?" repeated George, who appeared to be on the fence.

Bill paused before answering. "We'll know when we get there."

Ron shook his head. "Hermione's not going to like this."

"Well then, _she_ –" Percy's voice threatened a reprimand, but he stopped himself and appeared to bring his emotions back under control. Bill gave him a look that suggested caution. "It's nothing against Hermione," Percy restarted, in a measured tone. "But she's put us in a very bad situation. None of us wants to hurt anyone, but until we find the leak, everyone is at risk – _including_ Hermione."

Ron glared at Percy; he hated that he was right. He hated what they were about to do. And despite his words in the boy's defense, at that moment Ron hated James for putting them in this position, for even existing.

Bill took Ron's silence as acquiescence. "Let's get this over with," he said, and left the room. Everyone followed, with Ron reluctantly bringing up the rear.

They marched down the stairs and across the ground floor but didn't find James or Hermione in the sitting room, or in the kitchen. As the group paused by the kitchen doorway, Ron thought he heard a faint voice. Following the direction that he thought it might have come from, he walked toward the small scullery just off the kitchen.

"_Please_," came the whispered voice, which sounded so tortured that Ron came to a stop, stunned.

"Please, I . . . I can't do this . . . this isn't _right_ . . ." Hermione's sobs punctuated every word.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," said James, his voice soft but firm. "I know it's hard – it's hard for me, too – but we talked about this. You just . . . you just _have_ to."

A pained whimper stabbed into Ron like a dagger, and he was suddenly moving again, as fast as he could. Grabbing the doorframe with an outstretched hand, he wrenched himself around the corner into the small room to see two startled faces turn toward him. Hermione's cheeks were covered in tears, and her red eyes looked at Ron with an unsettling expression that he could only interpret as fear. Tearing his gaze away to look at James, who stood facing her, Ron saw that the boy held one of Hermione's hands in his, with his other hand gripping her shoulder. Ron was numb until James spoke.

"Ron –"

The voice triggered a blast of scorching fury, the likes of which Ron had never known. He grabbed James's shirt with both hands and threw him from the room, causing the boy to stumble into Ron's brothers, who had caught up.

"Get that rubbish outside," Ron growled, and the others surrounded James and forced him through the kitchen's back door.

"Wait!" Hermione cried, and Ron captured her with his arms as she tried to squeeze by him. "Wait! Stop!" she screamed, frantically pushing against Ron's chest.

"What did he do?" Ron demanded, his voice raw with unsuppressed anger. "Hermione! What did he _do_?!"

"Nothing!" Hermione shouted. "Ron, he didn't do anything! _Please_!"

Ron heard others arrive behind him, and turned to see Ginny and his mother watching with stricken expressions. "Take her," he ordered, and maneuvered Hermione into their waiting arms. Hermione continued to struggle, and her increasingly frantic, incomprehensible pleas jarred Ron so much that he was able to suppress his fury enough to speak to her, enough to lie.

"We're not going to hurt him," he began, while picturing various ways in which he _could_ cause the boy pain. "We just have to ask him some questions. It will be better if you stay here, okay? Stay here and we'll be back in just a bit."

"Keep her here," he added, looking from his mother to his sister. They said nothing but did as he asked, their faces white and wide-eyed.

Releasing Hermione, Ron turned and threw open the back door. He faintly registered Ginny calling after him amidst Hermione's continued cries, but he ignored them both.

The surrounding trees were a red blur to Ron as he stormed from the Burrow and across the backyard. With each stride his anger grew, along with his determination to uncover the truth. His previous reservations about his course of action were gone, burned away in the blistering fire of his rage. He would not allow anything or anyone to be a potential danger to those he loved.

He passed the fence and crossed the hill beyond it, which brought the orchard into view, where Ron could see his brothers waiting for him in a wide circle. And there, at the center of the circle, stood the one who threatened to destroy everything – the one he had quickly learned to hate. Ron's long legs sped into a jog.

As he approached, his target spotted him. The boy's face lit up with a look of alarm, which pleased Ron as he ran the last few steps.

Ron pulled his fist back high over his shoulder, and then threw it down with all of the anger and frustration that had built inside him throughout the long, torturous day. A sharp _crack_ cut through the air as his punch slammed into the boy's jaw and knocked him to the ground. Ignoring the new pain in his hand, Ron bent down to grab his fallen enemy by his shirt collar, and cocked another fist.

If this is what it took to get the truth, then so be it. The fact that Ron enjoyed it was simply an added benefit.

"Ron, wait –"

Ron didn't recognize which brother had called his name; he didn't care.

He drove his fist down again, this time into James's nose, as the boy struggled to get out from underneath him. Ron didn't remember why they had brought James outside, that they were supposed to question him. He had been swept up by the hurricane of emotions that had finally overpowered him.

But as he readied his next blow, Ron felt himself being pulled off his enemy by his arms.

"I said _stop_!" boomed Bill's voice from Ron's right.

"Get a grip, Ron!" shouted George from Ron's left.

Together, Ron's brothers drug him away from James, who remained still on the grass as blood flowed from his mouth and nose.

"All right! All _right_!" Ron yelled, and he jerked his arms free. He felt restraining hands move to his shoulders, but he didn't fight them as he stood, panting, with his eyes still locked onto his target.

"Check him," yelled Bill, and Percy and Charlie moved to help James to his feet. The boy wobbled as he rose, but was able to remain standing under his own power. He touched his hand to his mouth, pulled it back to see the copious amount of blood on his fingers, and then looked at Ron with a face that strangely seemed both shocked and sad. It made Ron want to punch him again.

"I guess you can tell that you don't want to get on Ron's bad side," said Bill, seizing control and making the most of the situation. "Tell us what we want to know and maybe we can avoid any more ugliness." With relish, Ron imagined that, to an outsider, Bill's scarred face must have made his implied threat terrifying.

But if James was scared, he didn't show it. Despite having been surrounded, attacked, and threatened, he calmly wiped at his face, which continued to bleed.

"Fire away," he said, flatly.

"How do you know Hermione?" Bill asked.

"It's like I told Ron," said James, who pressed one nostril closed in an attempt to stop his nosebleed. "I live near her. We met last year, and since there aren't any other witches or wizards in the area, we became friends."

"That's not a lot of information," prompted Bill.

"Well, the long version really isn't much different."

"What about family members?"

"No, there's nobody."

"How about naming one person other than Hermione who can vouch for you?"

"Sorry . . . I can't."

Bill paused, and Ron could tell that he was troubled by how things were progressing. What would he do if the boy couldn't produce a shred of evidence in his defense? Bill launched into his next series of questions with more urgency.

"Did Hermione tell you _anything_ about the plan to raid Hogwarts?"

"No."

"Did you perhaps see or overhear something by accident, something that you weren't supposed to?"

"No – look, I wasn't there _all_ the time, and when I was, we just stuck to making potions."

"What ingredients are used in a Blood-Replenishing Potion?" asked Percy. "How long does it take to brew Polyjuice Potion? Those were among the things that Hermione supplied for us, so you must know."

James did not answer, but simply frowned and wiped uselessly at the red smears on his face.

"What were you just arguing with Hermione about?" demanded Ron.

James gave a heavy sigh, and his face turned apologetic as he met Ron's eyes. "I'm sorry, Ron . . . but that's between us."

There was another pause, during which everyone looked to Bill while he, in turn, stared at James. Finally, Bill shook his head ruefully.

"You've brought this on yourself, mate."

Ron felt Bill's hand lift from his shoulder, and George's hand followed.

Ron walked forward, still hot with anger but back in control of himself. He scrutinized James as he approached him; the boy's entire face below his nose was wet with blood, which dripped from his chin freely as his arms hung loose at his sides. His nose was beginning to turn purple; Ron thought he might have broken it.

"You won't say _anything_?" said Ron. His hands tightened into fists. "Aren't you going to defend yourself at all?"

James had often avoided Ron's gaze throughout the day, but now he held it with a steady, unguarded stare that unsettled Ron for some reason. His fists unconsciously opened.

"How can I?" said James. His voice was repentant; his expression pained. Ron didn't understand the response, but thought that James seemed to speak more to himself.

"There's a way," came a quiet, broken voice.

Ron and James both turned to find that Hermione stood twenty feet away, joined by Ginny and Mrs. Weasley. Fresh tears spilled down Hermione's face as she looked from James to Ron with an expression of such sorrow that Ron's anger was instantly replaced by shame. He escaped her gaze and looked down, but his remorse intensified at seeing his bloodied hands.

"What is this?" gasped Mrs. Weasley. "Boys? What . . . what have you done?"

"We have to be _sure_," answered Bill. "We . . . we have to protect ourselves . . ." But Bill's words seemed uncertain as his mother and sister looked on in horror.

"James," came Hermione's fragile voice once again. "There _is_ a way. _Please_."

James looked directly at her, and when their eyes met, Ron could sense that the two of them shared some unsaid secret. James looked away and did not respond.

"If you don't," pressed Hermione, the pain on her face deepening, "then I will."

"Hermione –" James began.

"I'm s-sorry," she sobbed, "but I _swear_ I will."

"Please . . ." James begged, his plea spluttering through the blood on his lips. He glanced at Ginny. "Not like this."

Hermione gave James a final look of deepest regret, and then she addressed the rest of them. "I am so, _so_ sorry, but . . . but we've kept something very important from you. I . . . I don't know how to say this," Hermione returned her anguished eyes to James, who stared back at her.

"James is . . . he's . . ."

"I'm dying," James said flatly.

All heads turned toward him, but his eyes stayed locked with Hermione's, who had frozen with her mouth still shaped to speak her next words. James's face twisted as he looked at her. Much more than the physical pain Ron had caused him, this admission seemed to hurt James.

"I-I don't like to talk about it," James continued, shutting his eyes against Hermione's continued stare. "But I don't have a lot of time left, and . . . I want to make the most of it. I want to _fight_." He turned to address Bill and the others directly. "But I need your help. I need your _trust_."

"_How_ can we trust you?" said Bill. "You can't just . . . just _swear_ that you're telling the truth –"

"Then what about a _vow_?" countered James. "An Unbreakable Vow."

Ron was dumbstruck. He knew that if James were to break any promise made under an Unbreakable Vow, it would mean instant death.

"You . . ." stammered Bill. "You would be willing to risk that?"

"Well," James sighed, "It's not a very _big_ risk in my situation, is it? And it's the only way I can see for this to work."

No one spoke while Bill considered James's offer. Ron looked back at Hermione, who still gaped at James as if in shock. James glanced at her with a concerned expression and she slowly lowered her unblinking gaze to the ground at her feet. James's news seemed to have rattled her – had she not known?

"Does anyone here even know the spell?" asked Bill.

The gathered Weasleys looked to one another. George took a deep breath and then exhaled.

"I can do it," he said, taking a hesitant step forward.

Bill gave him a solemn nod. "All right. Then who –"

"I'll make the vow to _Ron_," said James. "That is," he added, turning to the boy in question, "if it's okay with you. Hermione has told me a lot of great things about you, and although we . . . got off on the wrong foot, I feel like I can trust you."

Ron's shame increased, and he also felt anxious and uncertain. He swallowed hard and nodded his consent.

"Okay then," George sighed. "Over here, both of you." Ron and James met George near the middle of the group. James immediately held out his hand and Ron reluctantly grasped it.

While George moved their locked hands into position and readied his wand, Ron looked around nervously. Everyone's faces seemed to echo his own unease at this course of action; his mother appeared to be especially torn. Ron knew that she could never truly condone this, but that her constant worry over her family's safety must have been what kept her silent. Ginny's face mirrored her mother's concerned expression.

With all eyes on the three of them, George touched the tip of his wand to James's and Ron's joined hands. Ron felt an almost tickling sensation – like static electricity – course through his entire arm. James, not waiting to be questioned, began to speak.

"I vow to always act in the best interests of your family, and of the Order of the Phoenix. I will _never_ betray any of you to the Death Eaters." With each oath, a thin line of red flame issued from George's wand and wound itself around the clasped hands. James's eyes were deadly serious as he stared intensely at Ron. "And with whatever time I have left, I will work to stop Voldemort for good. For all of the evil things he's done, for everything he's taken from me," James's eyes flickered across the others, "I won't rest until that bastard is _dead_."

Ron stared back into James's piercing gaze and saw nothing but earnest resolve. Looking past him, Ron found that Hermione again watched James intently, her pale face expressing unmistakable sadness and, Ron thought, something like reverence.

No one spoke as George removed his wand, causing the strings of flame to flash and then flitter away, forever binding James to his word. Ron took back his hand and rubbed it absentmindedly.

"Well," said Bill, who seemed a little shaken by how things had developed. "I suppose that puts you in the clear, James. There's no way we could ever doubt you now. Come inside and we'll get you sorted out."

"Thanks, Bill," said James as he turned to look at Hermione, who was slowly walking toward him. "I'll just be a few minutes."

Bill nodded and then left for the house, his brothers falling in step beside him. Ron, however, kept his eyes on Hermione and did not move. James must have been equally focused on her approach, because both he and Ron started at Ginny's sudden appearance beside them. She conjured a small towel with an effortless swish of her wand.

"Here, James – hold still," she said, and reached the towel out to James's face. He recoiled from her kind gesture as if she held a branding iron.

Ginny sighed.

"Well, here, then," she said with ambivalence, and tossed the towel to him. James caught it against his chest and stared at her as she turned and went to rejoin to her mother, who waited a dozen feet away looking like she was still processing everything that had just happened.

"Thank you," James called after her in a low, unsteady voice. Ginny turned back to look at him, and for the first time, James held her gaze and did not look away. He pressed the towel to his nose and flinched; its purplish blotches had darkened considerably in the past several minutes, and it seemed clear that Ron really had broken his nose.

Ginny walked back to James, who took in her every step with wide eyes. She stopped right in front of him and raised her wand to point directly at his face. When he showed no sign of resistance and lowered his bloodied towel, she cast her spell.

"_Episkey_."

The blotches around James's nose faded away, and he reached up with a tentative hand to touch the area. He appeared to be in no pain as he pinched his nose in several places.

"Thank you . . . again."

Ginny gave a faint smile.

"It . . . moved me, what you said. None of us could have put it any better."

James smiled back, and after a moment of silence, Ginny walked back to the Burrow with her mother. Hermione reached James just as Ginny left, and, up close, she looked so pale that Ron thought she might drop at any moment. Her voice was steady when she spoke, however, albeit mournful.

"Ron . . . do you think I could speak to James alone, please?" James shifted his eyes away from her uneasily and returned his towel to his still-bloody face.

"Sure," Ron said reluctantly. As he made his way to the house, he cast several looks back at the pair of them, who stood gazing at each other in silence. Ron didn't feel jealous at the exclusion – he didn't know _what_ to feel anymore. Should he still hate James? Had he ever, really? And hadn't Ron's actions been far worse than anything he could now accuse James of?

Confused and exhausted, Ron climbed the stairs to his room, fell onto his bed, and stared at the ceiling. Jumbled images from the day's events swirled before his eyes and he re-experienced the powerful and conflicting emotions that went with them, trying to make sense of it all.

* * * * * * *

Ron awoke to the feel of fingers brushing across his hair. Still half asleep, he cracked open his blurry eyes to find a warm smile amidst a mass of bushy brown hair directly above him.

"Hi," said Hermione. Her hand continued to smooth stray strands of Ron's hair away from his face, causing little bolts of lightning to jolt through his body from wherever she touched.

Ron noticed that her face – and the room – were cast in shadow.

"What time is it?"

"It isn't very late; your mother is just about to serve dinner. You looked so peaceful that I didn't want to wake you . . . but I thought you should eat."

Her words were soft as she continued to look at him affectionately, but Ron could hear an underlying coarseness in her voice, as though it were rough from exertion. Her eyes were very red.

Ron sat upright – missing Hermione's touch the moment she withdrew her hand – and turned his body toward her.

"He's made you cry again." The thought didn't anger Ron as it had so powerfully done so before. He simply wanted to understand, to help.

Hermione looked away, and her smile grew weary.

"He does do that, doesn't he?" She looked down and ran her fingers over a ruffle in the bed sheets, trying to flatten it. "But he doesn't mean to. He beats himself up over it."

Ron leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He tried not to overanalyze the care for James that was evident in her voice; he was simply too drained to go down that dark path again.

"Where is he?"

Hermione gave a small huff and shook her head.

"Outside, in the backyard. George is helping him put up a tent. All of the rooms are full, so he's going to sleep out there."

"That's rough. Especially after . . . y'know . . . everything we put him through." Ron felt his shame return with the memory of how he had acted, and feared what Hermione might say on the subject.

"He doesn't mind," Hermione sighed. "It was his idea, actually. He prefers keeping to himself; he's not even coming to dinner. But your mother feels very badly about what happened, so she plans to take him some food – I think he'll like that."

It was easy to tell by Hermione's dejected expression that she didn't agree with James's choice to exclude himself.

"Well, I hope it's a good tent, at least," Ron offered lamely, for a lack of anything better to say.

Hermione shrugged. "Not as good as our old one, but he'll have more than enough room."

A few strained moments went by, and Ron couldn't help blurting out the question that he knew he probably shouldn't ask.

"Is he really . . . dying?"

Hermione sniffled. This was clearly the matter that had left her with red-rimmed eyes.

"He seems certain, but . . . I'm not giving up. There's always a way. I won't a-accept . . ." Hermione's voice broke, and she took a second to gather herself before continuing. "I just can't think about the alternative."

The depth of Hermione's feelings for the boy was clear on her face. It was a strange spot for Ron to be in, comforting the girl he loved while she cried over another. It made him feel hollow.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he suggested, trying hard to sound both soothing and sincere.

Hermione shook her head. "He doesn't want to talk about . . . things . . . and I suppose that I have to honor his choice – even if he _is_ being absolutely thick about it."

It hurt to be kept on the outside while Hermione suffered, but Ron tried to hide his disappointment.

"Well, at least he has _you_ to talk to about this."

"Actually, he tried his best to avoid the subject. He only wanted to talk about me . . . and you." Hermione bit her bottom lip as some color returned to her pale cheeks.

Ron tensed. So James had asked about them, had he? Ron felt his stomach squirm as he realized that he was close to learning the answers to whatever questions James had raised.

"What did he want to know?" Ron asked. He tried to sound impassive, but couldn't entirely keep an accusatory tone from his voice.

"He cares about . . . his friends, Ron." Hermione looked distractedly at her hands as she wrung them in her lap. "And he knows that I'm happiest when I'm with you."

The words were like a shock to Ron's system; they blew right through his defenses and inflamed the hope that had begun to dwindle. But he had seen the way Hermione looked at James and could tell how much she cared. She had stood with the boy against Ron's family, against _himself_. He couldn't understand; the pieces still didn't fit.

"But you also care about _him_," Ron prompted.

"I do, and he needs me right now. But . . ."

Hermione went quiet, and a crease formed between her eyebrows as she continued to stare at her hands, which wrung together more feverishly. She abruptly brought them up and rubbed her face.

"I'm doing it again," she whispered. "Why can't I ever just _tell_ you?"

Taking a deep breath, Hermione dropped her hands to her lap, and then turned to look directly into Ron's eyes. All coherent thought flickered away as Ron found his face just inches from hers.

"I'm in love with you, Ron."

Ron's heart stopped. He could feel Hermione tremble nervously through the bed, but her brown eyes held steadily on his as she continued to speak.

"I've loved you for years, and if I had been brave enough to just tell you that in the first place, maybe we wouldn't have driven each other so crazy." She gave a faint chuckle and shook her head regretfully. "I've . . . I've been a coward, and a prat, and an idiot," Ron smiled as he recognized the words he had used to describe himself when he professed his love to Hermione a year ago. "But," she concluded, "I am absolutely, irrevocably, and hopelessly in love with you."

"And if that doesn't convince you," she added, moving her hands up Ron's chest to his shoulders. "Then maybe this will."

Before Ron's brain could catch up to what was happening, Hermione's mouth was on his. This wasn't like their two previous kisses, which had been forceful and brief in the heat of the moment. As their lips moved slowly together, Ron felt every bit of the adoration and yearning that he felt for her returned to him. Even with his limited experience, Ron knew that it wasn't the kind of kiss that a girlfriend simply gave to her boyfriend. It consumed and unified them; it was a promise – it was _forever_.

Hermione cupped his face as she finally pulled away; her eyes were lit with the same sense of awe that Ron felt warm him from the inside. The world had suddenly and irreversibly changed; they were complete now.

"Wow," Ron breathed. "Why didn't we just do _that_ ages ago?

"Because," smiled Hermione, sliding her hands back to Ron's chest. "We were both idiots."

Ron laughed and pulled her to him. As he enveloped her in his arms, Hermione tucked her head under his chin and placed her cheek against him. She closed her eyes and sighed contentedly. "It's only ever been you, Ron," she whispered.

Ron grinned broadly and felt a tear trickle down his cheek.

"I don't deserve you," he said, squeezing her tighter. "I never have."

"No, you deserve better," Hermione argued, still snuggled up against him. "But – lucky me – you don't get to meet a lot of other girls while stuck here at the Burrow."

Hermione's tone was light, but her comment was so wrong, so _unjust_, that it almost angered him.

"That isn't funny. You know, you've never seen yourself for what you really are."

"Well," Hermione shrugged, "I guess we have that in common, then." Ron could hear the smile in her voice.

As they held one another and the minutes eased by, Ron felt humbled. How could he, Ron Weasley – who had never called anything worthwhile his own – accept that the angel pressed against him was his? He didn't understand it and could barely believe it, but he _was_ certain of one thing: he would cherish this one gift that fate had given him, deserved or not, and he would strive every day to be worthy of a girl as perfect as Hermione Granger.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Next:

Harry works to uncover Lord Voldemort's plan while settling into life at the Burrow, but when everyone he loves is threatened, Harry must confront the secret from his past that led to his new magical powers, as well as the true reason for keeping his identity a secret. Meanwhile, Hermione arranges for Harry to have his favorite things in honor of his nineteenth birthday: treacle tart, broomsticks, and something flowery.

Coming soon, the seventh chapter in _The World I Leave Behind_, "Stampede."


	8. Chapter Seven: Breaking the Rules

The sun dimmed as a large, cottony cloud drifted past it, and Harry sighed in relief. It was still early in the morning, but the day was already hot. Harry had spent the previous two hours among the trees that stood farthest from the Burrow – yet still inside its protective wards – working through a shortened version of the training regimen he had maintained during his year of captivity within the Chamber of Secrets.

As he crossed the orchard and came within sight of the Burrow, Harry spotted Hermione sitting on the hill that overlooked the backyard; she had a book in her lap and more stacked beside her. Harry barely noticed her, however, as his eyes were pulled to another girl who was exiting the chicken coop farther away.

As always, Voldemort, the prophecy, and saving the wizarding world flew out of Harry's head the moment he saw Ginny Weasley.

Harry didn't acknowledge Hermione as he sat next to her in the grass. His eyes stayed locked on Ginny, who had gathered several long, loose locks of her gorgeous red hair as they fluttered on the breeze and was fastening them into a ponytail. One particularly pesky strand was proving hard to get, and Ginny swore. Harry chuckled; Ginny had never been a morning person. She looked a mess . . . and perfect, as always.

Truth be told, Harry always made sure to finish his training in time to see Ginny make her morning rounds. It was a small indulgence, and as much as he allowed himself. Ginny was strictly off limits. If he talked to her, it would make things harder. If he spent time with her, it would hurt. And if he dropped his disguise, ran down the hill, pressed her against the side of the house and kissed her like he ached to, it could very well mean the end of the world.

**The World I Leave Behind**  
Chapter Seven: Breaking the Rules

Harry watched Ginny's every move, treasuring every insignificant step, until she went back inside the house. Even then, Harry continued to gaze at the door she had disappeared through for several moments before he felt Hermione's eyes upon him. Looking sideways, he saw that she had closed her book, turned toward him, and sat watching him with her elbow on her knee and her chin propped up in her hand. She wore a frustrated look that Harry had seen a lot of during the week they had so far spent at the Burrow.

"'Morning, Hermione," said Harry with a casual smile, ignoring her calculating stare. "What are you doing out here so early?"

Hermione shrugged. "Just enjoying the weather," she answered, before looking toward the spot where Ginny had stood. "Lovely view, don't you think?"

Harry turned away and answered with a shrug of his own. He pulled a small flask from his back pocket and busied himself by taking his hourly dose of Polyjuice Potion, which kept his hair sandy blonde and his face unrecognizable. He hoped against all odds that their discussion wasn't about to take the direction he suspected, and was immediately disappointed.

"You are _so_ wrong about this," Hermione hissed. "How many times do I have to say it?"

Harry sighed. "Endlessly, apparently."

"Do you think that Ginny is the _spy_, Harry?"

Harry looked at her warily.

"You would know by now if she was," Hermione added. "You haven't taken your eyes off her the entire time we've been here."

Harry rolled his eyes as Hermione went on.

"Because if you _don't_ think she's working for the Death Eaters, then there is no good reason for you to keep the truth from her."

"I've told you my reasons," Harry said with finality.

Hermione didn't immediately retort, but her lips pursed and her face flushed. She wasn't about to let up, and it looked as if the next round would be worse.

"Only three books?" Harry asked in a weak effort to change the subject. "You're slowing down. What's got you out here reading before breakfast?"

To Harry's surprise, his distraction worked; Hermione deflated and broke eye contact with him. A moment passed without any response, so – intrigued by her curious reaction – Harry reached over and lifted the book she had been reading. The title across its worn cover read _Secrets of the Soul: Musings on Man's Most Monumental Mystery_. Glancing at the other books, he saw that they shared the same subject matter. Harry immediately felt guilty for arguing with her.

"Where did you get these?" he asked.

"My house," Hermione quietly answered. "When I went to visit my parents yesterday."

Harry flipped through the book idly, not seeing the pages.

"I thought that I should look at them before Ron got up," she added in a flat voice. "So that he doesn't ask any questions."

Harry nodded, closed the book, and returned it to the spot of grass he had taken it from.

"Found anything interesting?" he asked, looking back at her.

Hermione shook her head. "To be honest, I don't really expect to find anything new in these; I've read them before."

"Hermione," Harry began, but then paused as he thought of the best way to phrase what he wanted to say without hurting her.

"If Dumbledore knew about . . . about my _problem_ . . . for years and couldn't figure out a solution, then . . . it can't be done." Harry gave her an apologetic smile. "No offense to the brightest witch that Hogwarts has ever seen."

Hermione did not smile back, but turned to face the Burrow.

"What else am I supposed to do, Harry?" A quaver in her voice hinted at a well of concealed emotion.

This was the one thing that Harry hated about sharing his secret with Hermione, the burden he was determined to spare everyone else that he loved: he would have to leave them again. Forever. Soon.

"Listen, Hermione . . . when I die –"

"Don't say it," Hermione pleaded. Still focusing on the Burrow, she pulled up her knees and wrapped her arms around them.

"Sorry . . . it's just that I've had a long time to get used to the idea. I'll admit that I don't look forward to _dying_ very much, but the idea of _being_ dead doesn't bother me. My parents, Sirius, Remus and Tonks, Fred, Dumbledore – they're all waiting for me. I don't really know what it's like – you know, on the _other side_; they say that it can't properly be expressed in words. But I know they're together, and that they're happy. That will be enough for me."

Hermione still did not look at him, but gave a reluctant nod and rubbed her eyes. Harry reached over and squeezed her shoulder.

"I'll miss you, though," he said, and it was his turn to hold back a surge of emotion. Looking again at the door Ginny had entered, he added, "I'll miss all of you."

Hermione nodded once more and made a brave attempt at a smile.

"You know," she said, drawing in an unsteady breath. "I can't get used to the way you talk about them – Dumbledore, your parents, and everyone – as if they're still here."

"Well, they kind of . . . are . . . for me."

One week ago, on the night Harry had told Hermione that he must die by Voldemort's hand – that it was the only way to destroy an errant piece of the Dark Lord's soul that Harry carried within him – he had shared everything about the Deathly Hallows, Snape's memories, and the sacrifice needed to fulfill Dumbledore's ultimate plan. Harry kept no secrets from her anymore. Well, except for just one.

If Harry were to tell Hermione the full story of how he had obtained his increased magical powers, she would probably be more understanding of his decision to keep his identity a secret from the others, especially from Ginny. It was easier for Harry, however – _much_ easier – to avoid the subject if at all possible.

Hermione's smile seemed strained and she still didn't appear ready to look at him, but she wasn't crying. Harry had something to tell her, news that he didn't think she would want to hear. But she seemed to be holding together well enough, and they were already circling the subject, anyway. He took a deep breath.

"Hermione . . . I'm going to see Lucius Malfoy."

"What?" she said, her wide eyes instantly flashing back to his.

"He's still at Hogwarts, and although he's not exactly on great terms with Voldemort, he probably still sees and hears things. I'm hoping he can tell me what's been going on, and give me some idea of how I can, you know . . ." _Reach Voldemort and get him to kill me_, Harry finished inside his head.

"But . . . how are you going to meet him?" Hermione asked, clearly shocked by the idea of Harry sitting down with a former member of Voldemort's inner circle. "You're not going to Hogwarts . . . or bringing him here . . .?"

"No, of course not. We'll both Apparate to a neutral spot during the night. Well, _I'll_ Apparate; Lucius isn't allowed a wand anymore, so Kreacher will bring him."

Harry answered Hermione's next question before she could speak it.

"I went back to the clearing last night – the place where they held the World Cup – and called for Kreacher. I figured that if any Death Eaters showed up with him, I'd just Disapparate. It turns out that Kreacher has been working in the Hogwarts kitchens ever since we abandoned Grimmauld Place." Harry chuckled. "I probably ate his cooking in the Chamber without ever knowing it."

"Oh my," said Hermione, looking stricken. "I really don't know if that was a very good idea, Harry . . . but I'm glad to hear that Kreacher is okay. Was he able to tell you anything?"

"A little. He's not in a position to know much. Remember what I overheard Bill say the day we got here? He told the others that the Death Eaters had gone quiet; he was worried that they were up to something. Well, they are. Kreacher told me that a lot more of them have gathered at Hogwarts, and that Voldemort is there nearly all the time now."

"But Harry, how do you know that Lucius can be trusted? I know that you both had a kind of truce while he watched after you in the Chamber, but turning you in now could get him his old spot back as a top Death Eater."

"He could," Harry conceded with an unconcerned look. "But I don't think he will."

Despite Harry's confidence, Hermione didn't look at all convinced.

"Really, Hermione – you didn't see Lucius when he used the Resurrection Stone to talk to Draco in the Chamber. Don't get me wrong – I'll be ready to get out of there at the first sign of trouble – but I think Voldemort lost Lucius for good when he murdered his son. And I have an idea that I think will guarantee his help."

Hermione's eyes drifted away as Harry finished; it appeared as if she was considering something else.

"If . . . if he can help you get to . . . You-Know-Who," it annoyed Harry that – during his absence – Hermione had lost her nerve when it came to saying Voldemort's name, but he didn't call her on it. "Then we – you – might not have much time . . ."

"Well," Harry sighed, "the sooner this is over, the better for everyone."

Hermione's eyes blazed at him and he could tell that she wanted to argue, but could not. Their wizarding way of life – and the Muggle world, too – were in grave danger. People were dying all the time. What was one more life to help end it all? But of course, Harry understood her stubbornness. If the situation were reversed, he certainly wouldn't give up on Hermione, or Ron, or . . .

Hermione seemed to sense the direction that Harry's thoughts had taken.

"Then it's all the more important," she said resolutely, "to make the most of whatever time you have left. Ginny –"

Harry shifted away from her and grunted in frustration.

"Look, Hermione, Ginny and I dated for, what – a few weeks? And that was over two years ago. I mean, sure, I still like her," Harry cringed inwardly at his use of the word _like_, which was so insufficient for how he felt that it seemed blasphemous. "And if things had turned out differently . . . who knows what might have happened. But she's getting on all right. Why make things . . . complicated?"

"Because she is _not_ 'all right,'" Hermione said, exasperated. "She's had a very hard time, Harry. She's only just started to help out around the house since we've been here; before that Ron says she barely got out of bed." Hermione threw the words like daggers, and they cut. It was hard enough for Harry to keep away from Ginny; it would be impossible if he believed that she was suffering and needed him.

"And you can't tell me that you don't need to see her, too, Harry. I know how much you missed her when we had to leave."

Harry remembered the months he had spent with Ron and Hermione in tents while hunting for Horcruxes, of pulling out the Marauder's Map to stare at Ginny's dot while she lay safe in her bed at school. He had missed her terribly then, and yet his longing had been nothing compared to how he yearned to be with her now.

Hermione pressed on, perhaps sensing that Harry's resolve was wavering.

"Harry . . ." Her voice was softer now. "Telling Ginny would be good for the both of you. If nothing else, it would give each of you a chance to . . . to say goodbye."

Her words were nearly identical to what Lily had said to him in the Chamber, and the memory of his mother's pleas made Harry feel doubly guilty.

"I just don't want to open old wounds," Harry said, repeating the response he had given his mother. "Whether I died a year ago or sometime in the next few weeks . . . in the end, it won't matter much."

"It matters to me," Hermione whispered. "Harry, when you . . . go – if there really is no other way – I know it's going to hurt. And right now, I can't imagine how I will ever get past it." She appeared to forget her point for a moment, and her downcast eyes began to shimmer with unshed tears.

"But I will never for _one second_ regret seeing you again. You don't know how much this means to me, Harry – I've experienced the alternative . . ."

More guilt swelled within Harry, mixed with a frustrated feeling of helplessness. Couldn't he simply suffer alone? Why did everyone that he loved have to hurt, too?

"Don't you _want_ to see her again, Harry? See her properly, I mean? _And_ Ron?"

Harry's control slipped, and his next words were harsh as he hurled them at her.

"Since when has what _I_ wanted ever mattered?"

He was on his feet in an instant, ready to escape before Hermione could do any more damage.

"Look," he said, straining to keep his voice calm. "I'm going inside to shower before everyone gets up."

But as he turned to walk away, Harry felt a hand grab the bottom of his shirt.

"Wait," said Hermione, who had risen to her knees. "Please, don't go yet. I'm . . . I'm sorry I upset you."

Harry looked down at her pleading half-smile and, with a deep sigh, returned to the grass beside her. Hermione took his hand and leaned against his shoulder. They stared blankly at the Burrow and sat in amicable silence for several minutes. When Hermione eventually spoke, Harry could tell that she was trying very hard to keep her tone light and pleasant.

"You know, I was waiting on this hill to tell you something else before I went into my lecture." Harry looked at Hermione, and her head tilted toward him from its place on his shoulder. "Happy nineteenth birthday, Harry," she said, and her tenuous smile solidified into something genuine.

Harry blinked.

"My birthday?" he muttered, completely taken off guard. "What day is it?"

Hermione chuckled. "You don't know what day your birthday is, Harry?"

"Today is the thirty-first?" he rephrased.

"Yes. And . . . I'm sorry about the things I said before. Even if I disagree with you, I shouldn't have upset you on your birthday."

Harry couldn't respond at first as he tried to decipher the mix of thoughts and emotions that stirred inside him. A part of him was amazed that he had reached another birthday; it seemed an odd thing to come across on his path to death. But he knew that this one would be his last, and – despite the fact that he had accepted his fate – the thought upset him.

"Harry, are you okay?"

Harry could tell by Hermione's concerned expression that he hadn't hid his reaction well. He worked a smile onto his face.

"Yeah, I just . . . wow. I can't believe you remembered. I didn't."

Hermione squeezed his hand.

"Well, it's a good thing I did. Nobody else would know to get you any presents."

"What –"

Before Harry could finish his question or begin his inevitable protests, Hermione cut him off.

"Nothing big," she assured him. "And nothing anyone would notice. Don't worry, Harry; just try to enjoy the day."

Harry didn't feel like celebrating, but he smiled and nodded. With everything he was putting Hermione through, the least he could do was show a little appreciation for her kindness.

"Well," Harry said after several moments, "I really should take that shower before a line starts to form."

Hermione released his hand and sat upright.

"That's not a bad idea – you _do_ kind of smell after your workout." She wrinkled her nose in an exaggerated expression of disgust.

Harry stood and began to walk away, then turned back to look at her.

"Are you going back inside?" he asked.

"In a bit," she answered. Hermione reopened the book she had been reading, which earned a heavy sigh from Harry. He hated to see her cling to any kind of hope that he could somehow cheat death yet again; it would only hurt her more when he was gone.

"Just humor me, Harry," Hermione said. She kept her eyes on her book but gave a polite smile.

"Sure," he relented. "See you inside."

* * * * * *

The rest of the morning followed the usual pattern for life at the Burrow. Harry finished his shower just as the Weasleys and their guests began to stir; Mrs. Weasley busied herself in the kitchen; Percy made a floo call to check in with Bill and Charlie at Shell Cottage; and Ron grumbled his way through breakfast until Hermione joined them. Even while living in hiding with several strangers from Shell Cottage helping to pack the Burrow, it was easy for Harry to feel at home again.

And then there was Ginny. As much as Harry did not want to talk to Hermione about her, his ex-girlfriend was nearly all that he thought about. Harry had only exchanged a couple of cordial smiles and a few pleasant hellos with Ginny since the day he arrived, but his eyes surreptitiously followed her every move.

With so many extra mouths to feed, she had begun to regularly help Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen at mealtimes. As Ginny cracked eggs, buttered toast, and poured glasses of juice each morning, Harry had come to realize that watching her work held an unexpected appeal for him. It was easy to imagine her preparing meals for just the two of them at some far off point in a fantasy future. Harry had often daydreamed about such wonderfully normal, domestic scenes during his endless days and nights of captivity. From the moment he realized how much he loved her, Harry's imagination had tortured him with countless fleeting glimpses of a life he could never have.

On this morning, Ginny's hair brushed against Harry's arm as she leaned in to set his plate on the table. The touch gave him goosebumps, and her sweet, flowery smell lingered in the air around him. Harry smiled dazedly until he met Hermione's eyes; she always watched him like a hawk when Ginny was around.

Ginny sat next to Dean, who – as always – had saved her a chair. It seemed as though she only grudgingly put up with Dean's advances, but that didn't stop Harry from feeling a sting of pain and annoyance when he saw them together.

As Harry was finishing his eggs – which, knowing that Ginny had made them, were somehow the best-tasting eggs he'd ever eaten – he felt someone kick his foot under the table. Looking up, he caught a sneaky glance from Hermione, who sat across from him. She cleared her throat and turned to face her boyfriend.

"Ron," she said, speaking loud enough for everyone to overhear. "Remember what I told you last night?"

Ron's fork froze inches from his mouth, and he turned a sheepish look to Hermione.

"Why are you bringing _that_ up _here_?" he whispered, casting his eyes nervously around the table. His ears turned pink.

For a long moment Hermione was puzzled by Ron's reaction, and then her eyes went wide and her cheeks burned red.

"Not _that_, Ron!" she scolded in a rushed whisper.

George choked on his food so badly that Percy had to slap him on the back. As he coughed and spluttered, George kept a broad grin trained on Ron and Hermione, whose flushed faces were steadfastly avoiding his.

Hermione tried again.

"_Quidditch_," she said irritably, loud and clear over George's fading wheezes.

"Oh, right," Ron murmured.

"I thought it might be nice for us to have a little fun for a change," Hermione said, turning to address everyone at the table. A few eyes looked up at her, but nobody responded as they continued to eat. After a few awkward seconds, Mr. Weasley spoke up.

"I think that's a wonderful idea," he said with a reassuring smile at Hermione. "We have most of the day free, and the weather is going to be marvelous; it would be a shame to waste it. What do you say, George?"

George thought for a second, and then a wide grin stretched across his face.

"Absolutely," he said in a delighted tone. "I've always wanted to see you in action on a broom, Hermione."

"Oh no," Hermione said with a mild look of panic in her eyes. "I'll just be cheering everyone on. I said we should have _fun_, not watch me embarrass myself."

"Hey, that sounds plenty fun to me," George countered.

"Cut it out, George," Ron mumbled through a mouthful of toast.

Hermione ignored both of their comments and took the fact that George hadn't said _no_ to mean that he had said _yes_.

"Excellent! That's two, then," she said, taking Ron's hand on the table. Ron's expression led Harry to believe that his friend had not previously committed to the idea, but Ron didn't dispute Hermione's assumption.

Hermione's gaze next fell on Harry.

"Any good on a broom, James?"

Even after spending a week under the affects of Polyjuice Potion, Harry was often slow to catch his fake name.

"Come on," Hermione continued, in what Harry recognized as an effort to cover up his slow response. "It's the perfect day for a match, don't you think?" The corners of her lips curled up slightly, and Harry realized that she was trying to give him his birthday present.

"I'm in," interjected Dean before Harry could speak. "Still rubbish a broom, Seamus?"

"We'll see, won't we?" said Seamus, grinning wickedly at the veiled challenge in his friend's taunt.

Neither noticed Hermione staring daggers at them.

"What do you think, Perce?" called George, who placed his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. "Got any room in your busy schedule for something thoroughly unproductive? I should warn you; you might actually enjoy yourself."

Percy shook his head dismissively, but chuckled. During Harry's week at the Burrow, he had noticed that George and Percy seemed much closer than before.

"I can't remember the last time I tried to keep up with the rest of you," said Percy. George gave his brother a horribly overdone puppy-dog look and sighed dramatically. "Well," Percy considered, "as I haven't any appointments until later this afternoon . . . I suppose I might give it a go."

"Good man," said Mr. Weasley encouragingly.

Hermione was starting to look impatient.

"_James_?" she asked again, while glaring at Harry for being so slow on the uptake.

"Um . . . sure," Harry said, sounding less enthusiastic than the rest. He wasn't certain that he was up for a match, but he appreciated the gesture and he didn't want to test Hermione's patience any further.

With a satisfied smile, Hermione finally released Harry from her icy stare and turned a softer look to Ginny.

"You'll play too, won't you Ginny?"

Harry tensed as he realized Hermione's full plan at last; he knew it was no accident that she had gotten him to commit to the game before pulling Ginny into the picture. Although Hermione continued to look politely at Ginny, Harry could see a "got-you" kind of grin on her face.

But before Ginny could do more than stare at Hermione in mild surprise – for it was rare that she either volunteered or was asked to be a part of anything – Dean spoke up.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea, Ginny," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder in the same tender manner that one might use to console someone. "I mean, well . . . you probably haven't been on a broom in ages."

"Have _you_?" Ginny replied coolly. She raised her eyebrows at Dean and shrugged off his hand.

"Dean is right, dear," Mrs. Weasley chimed in. "You haven't played since you were at school; there's no sense risking an injury."

Ginny stared blankly at her mother. Mr. Weasley took in a breath as if he were about to offer his opinion on the matter, but Mrs. Weasley gave him a sharp look and he returned to his plate.

Harry was annoyed. While he had promised himself that he would stay as far away from Ginny as possible, the idea of spending a sunny afternoon in her presence – of flying alongside her once again – was too enticing. And while Mrs. Weasley was overcautious by nature, who was _Dean_ to tell Ginny that she couldn't handle a broomstick? She had always been an amazing flyer, better than Dean by far. Harry didn't realize that he was glaring at Dean until Hermione spoke up.

"I'm sure there's nothing to worry about, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said reassuringly. "This won't be a _serious_ match; just a small, friendly game."

"I'm in," said Ginny, cutting off her mother's response. "And since we'll have big enough teams, let's use a Bludger and make it a real match."

Mrs. Weasley's lips were pressed together so tight that it seemed as if she were struggling to keep words from spilling out of her mouth. Dean just shrugged.

Harry felt another kick under the table and found Hermione smiling at him like the cat that ate the canary. Confused over whether he should be happy or upset with her for meddling, he settled on feeling irritated and kicked her back – at least, that's what he had meant to do.

"Hey!" Ron yelped, jumping in his seat. Harry quickly raised his glass of juice and hid his face behind a long gulp.

* * * * * * *

The morning rushed by in a blur while Harry alternately felt thrilled and nervous about his afternoon plans. He made hourly trips to the bathroom to take doses of Polyjuice Potion, or else found some other private place to sip from his hidden flask. Since everyone knew the truth behind the drinks that "Professor Moody" had frequently taken during Harry's fourth year at Hogwarts – that the teacher's flask was filled with Polyjuice Potion, and that he had been a Death Eater in disguise – Harry knew that acting in a similar fashion would raise suspicion.

Before Harry knew it, everyone had eaten lunch and they set out for the orchard where he had played Quidditch in years past. Hermione walked between Harry and Ron with her arms hooked around theirs, beaming at them both. Any lingering annoyance that Harry felt toward Hermione disappeared as he realized what it meant to her for the three of them to be together like that, almost as if things were back to normal. It meant a great deal to Harry, too. Hermione turned her glowing grin to him, and he didn't resist giving her one in return.

"So, uh . . . James," Ron said tentatively as they strode across the grass. "Ever played before?"

"Sure," Harry answered, grinning.

Things had smoothed over between he and Ron since their confrontation on Harry's disastrous first day back at the Burrow. In fact, all of the Weasleys went out of their way to treat Harry – or rather, "James," as they now knew him – as a welcome guest. Harry attributed the turnaround to two factors: first, he had told everyone that he was dying – he allowed them to imagine an incurable illness rather than reveal his plan to somehow trick Voldemort into killing him – and second, Harry had proven his loyalty to the anti-Voldemort cause with an Unbreakable Vow.

In the days that had followed, Ron progressed from becoming awkwardly silent in Harry's presence to being polite, even friendly. It was nothing like the treasured friendship they had before, but Harry would certainly take it over another broken nose.

At the moment, however, Ron's brow was creased in apparent confusion.

"But if you lived in a Muggle neighborhood," he continued, repeating one of the many lies Harry had invented for his new identity. "And you didn't go to Hogwarts – who did you play with?"

It took Harry only a second to come up with an answer, because it was essentially the truth.

"I have a brother that I haven't seen in a while; we used to play together." Smiling to himself, Harry added, "He's an amazing Keeper."

Harry peeked at Hermione, and her eyes – as they so often did when the three of them were together — had gotten misty.

"Oh," Ron said. "What team do you support, then?"

Enjoying the moment – talking Quidditch with his former best friend and teammate – Harry couldn't resist speaking the first answer that popped into his head.

"The Chudley Cannons," he said, causing Ron to look at him in stunned disbelief. "They've been a bit rubbish the past few years, but I figure they're due to turn things around."

Ron launched into sharing his enthusiastic views on the team's many problems and how he would fix them. While he jabbered away, Hermione gave a contended sigh and squeezed Harry's arm appreciatively.

"It's a perfect day, isn't it?" she said, once Ron paused to take a breath. She appeared to be admiring the bright blue horizon.

"Yeah," Harry answered distractedly, as his eyes found Ginny among the group that had reached the paddock ahead of them. In a repeat of the scene he had witnessed that morning, loose strands of her hair danced in the breeze. "Perfect."

As Harry, Ron, and Hermione joined the others, George and Percy were divvying up some battered old broomsticks they had retrieved from the shed. Harry felt a twinge of disappointment upon remembering that he no longer had his Firebolt, but knew that under the circumstances, it hardly mattered what kind of broom he flew.

Ron took a broomstick from George, but when Harry stepped forward, he saw that George's hands were empty.

"Sorry mate," said George with a pat on Harry's shoulder. "The teams are evened up; you'll have to wait for the next game."

Hermione opened her mouth to prepare what was certain to be a protest, but Harry cut her off.

"No problem, George. C'mon, Hermione – we can watch from over there."

Hermione followed Harry with an apologetic expression on her face. "It's fine," Harry whispered to her as they sat on the grass by the orchard's edge. "I don't mind waiting."

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley – who had come along to watch the match – joined them. Mr. Weasley appeared to enjoy the rare break from the doom and gloom that usually colored their daily lives, but Harry suspected that Mrs. Weasley was more interested in the fact that, against her wishes, her daughter was about to do something slightly more dangerous than wash dishes.

Harry again felt irritated. He knew that Mrs. Weasley meant well, but she – along with everyone else – treated Ginny as if she were fragile. While it was true that Ginny wasn't quite her old self – it bothered Harry that she was more reserved and didn't joke around like she used to – he had always known her to be an especially strong, capable witch. He loved that about her.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley made polite small talk with Harry and Hermione until six brooms suddenly took flight. Ron assumed his usual role as Keeper and flew to one of the sets of homemade hoops that marked either end of the Weasleys' shortened pitch; Seamus guarded the other set. As everyone took positions, Harry could see that Ron's team included Dean as Chaser and Percy as Beater, while Seamus was joined by Ginny and George who played their preferred positions of Chaser and Beater, respectively.

From his seat on the ground, Harry could faintly hear George count down to the start of the match, at which point the brooms sped into blurs. Harry felt a sudden thrill at watching Quidditch again, and he instantly longed to be in the air. Squinting into the sun, he could see the action clearly – the one thing Harry liked about his disguise was that it gave him perfect vision.

With smaller teams and no Seekers, the game was primarily a duel between the two Chasers. The Beaters, George and Percy, took every opportunity to swing their bats at the Bludger, but the ball was old, slow, and seemed fairly easy to avoid. Ginny quickly scored the game's first two goals with hardly any interference from Dean, who cheered her on with overdone enthusiasm.

"Well, Ginny hasn't lost a step, has she?" said Hermione with a smirk and a nudge against Harry's side. Ginny did appear to be as fast and fluid on a broom as ever, but to the eyes of someone who understood Quidditch as well as Harry, skill hadn't been the only factor in those first two goals.

Soon enough, Ginny had put the Quaffle past Ron a third and fourth time, and on the last goal, Dean had stopped chasing her a good fifty feet before she reached the hoop. Ginny flew over to Dean, parked in the air beside him, and said something that Harry couldn't hear. Grinning at her, Dean shook his head and held his hands up defensively, apparently denying whatever she had said. Harry had a good idea that he knew what was on Ginny's mind: Dean was letting her win.

Harry felt a rush of anger and could easily guess that Ginny was upset, too. Here it was again – people supposedly protecting Ginny from herself; not trusting her, not believing in her. As if she needed any help from Dean to win – she could fly circles around him. Harry glanced at Mrs. Weasley to find her staring up at Ginny with a fearful look on her face, one palm pressed over her heart with her other clutched tightly around Mr. Weasley's hand. What was _wrong_ with everyone? Why did they act as if Ginny was some kind of nutter that could fall out of the sky at any minute?

Ginny was noticeably more reserved when the match resumed. Perhaps in an attempt to spur Dean into competing, she slowed her movements and left him a clear path to the opposite end of the pitch. With her trailing far behind him, Dean took a shot that Seamus blocked. Ginny coasted to her Keeper and retrieved the Quaffle, then cruised back down the pitch at half speed. With the game slowed to a childlike pace, Dean was willing to fly beside Ginny and occasionally make a feeble reach for the Quaffle. When she eventually reached scoring position, Ginny casually threw the ball toward the hoop and Ron caught it easily. Ron, at least, was playing an honest game. He had made an effort to block Ginny's previous goals and had come close to stopping them.

"Dean is such a considerate young man," Harry heard Mrs. Weasley say to her husband. "I had a word with him," she went on. "Told him that Ginny wasn't really up for something like this yet, and he promised to look out for her." Mr. Weasley did not comment on this, but stared up at his daughter with a troubled expression. Harry caught Hermione's eye and could tell by her concerned look that she had finally figured out what was happening.

Harry seethed as he watched the mockery of a match amble on. If the rest of the players noticed that anything was wrong, they did not mention it. George and Percy spent more time goofing off and hitting the Bludger at each other than they did at the Chasers, who moved so slowly that the Keepers rarely had anything to do. Ginny threw the Quaffle at Ron's hoop with no enthusiasm; she only seemed to do it because it was the one way to move the game toward its end. Eventually, at a snail's pace, Dean got enough throws past Seamus to reach 150 points and secure a victory for his team.

Harry, Hermione, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley stood as the players returned to the ground. Ginny drifted down last. The Ginny that Harry had known would not have let people treat her like this, but she appeared apathetic with no hint of a fight in her. This, more than anything, stoked Harry's anger. Although Ginny had been quieter than usual since Harry's return to the Burrow, for the first time she seemed . . . broken.

Mrs. Weasley stepped toward her daughter with a satisfied smile on her face.

"Are you having fun, dear?" she asked. Ginny simply shrugged without meeting her mother's eyes.

"Hey Dean," called Harry, only partly trying to suppress the edge in his voice. "Mind if I take your spot in the next game?" Harry held his hand out toward Dean's broomstick expectantly.

"Well," Dean said uncertainly with a sideways glance at Ginny.

"You can take mine," said Ginny in a flat voice, and she held her broom out to Harry. "I'm done."

Harry met her eyes and could find none of the fire that made Ginny who she was; who he loved. A kind of panic mixed with his anger to drown out the thoughts that usually cautioned him. In a distant, lessened part of his mind, Harry faintly realized that he was entering dangerous territory; that his emotions were too powerful and too near the surface. His rigid self-control was breaking down, and his true self was roaring to be set free.

Harry ignored Ginny's offer and instead pulled Dean's broom out of his hands. Harry knew this had probably seemed rude, but he did not look at Dean to see his reaction, nor did he care. He spoke to Ginny and tried not to sound as frustrated with her as he felt.

"I heard that you were a top player at Hogwarts," he said. "C'mon – show me what you've got."

At Ginny's slightly stunned expression, Harry mounted his broom. Dean leaned in close to Harry and spoke to him in a low voice.

"Take it easy up there, okay, James? Ginny's been through a lot."

Harry did not look at him but said "Sure" through gritted teeth, then pushed hard off the ground and rocketed into the sky. Harry glimpsed Hermione as he rose, who wore a worried "I'm-not-sure-this-is-a-good-idea" expression. Mrs. Weasley was eyeing him shrewdly.

Harry sat in the air impatiently as the rest of the players re-mounted their broomsticks and joined him one by one. Ron tossed Harry the Quaffle on the way to his hoops; according to their modified rules, the Chaser on the winning team – Harry – would be given the first opportunity to score. Ginny was the last to take her position, which was to face Harry at the center of the pitch with her back to her own goal. From a distance, George counted down to the start of the match while Harry stared directly into Ginny's eyes, which – now that he dared to look at them – no longer seemed familiar. Harry's heart pounded harder as his panic grew; his grip on the Quaffle tightened.

"3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . go!"

At George's mark, Harry bolted into action. He flew directly at Ginny, whose eyes went wide at his sudden charge. He closed the space between them in less than a second, during which Ginny hovered motionless before him, apparently unsure of what to do. Just before crashing into her however, Harry rolled his broom upside down and passed safely underneath her, missing Ginny by an inch. Harry righted himself and did not look back as he pushed the old broomstick to its limit. As he sped toward Seamus, Harry cocked the Quaffle over his shoulder and angled his broom toward the Keeper's left hoop. He feinted a throw, which sent Seamus diving, then retargeted the right hoop and easily put the Quaffle through it to score the first ten points of the game. Harry turned around to see that Ginny had caught up to him; she looked flustered as her broom slowed to a stop.

"You've got to stay in motion while on defense," said Harry as he passed Ginny on his way back to the center of the pitch. "Don't they cover the basics at Hogwarts?"

The words had come out harsher than Harry had intended, sharpened by his desperation to see Ginny return to her old self. He kept from looking back at her as he retook his starting position, and he likewise avoided eye contact with everyone else, whose stares he could feel upon him. Harry spotted Percy however, who – while restraining the Bludger until play resumed – shot him a dirty look. The fire that had overwhelmed Harry's senses cooled under the frosty glare, and a new kind of panic flared within him – what if his words had hurt Ginny?

When Ginny took her place before Harry with the Quaffle under her arm, he did not immediately look at her. But as George again counted down to the start of play, Harry glanced up to find a different expression on her face – she appeared to be a little angry, and possibly a bit confused. But in the second that Harry had to consider this, he was relieved to see that she no longer seemed dull and lifeless.

So intent was Harry upon reading her face that he did not hear the end of George's countdown; he only realized that the game was back on when Ginny streaked past him. Harry spun around in pursuit and, a moment later, had positioned himself alongside her. He looked sideways at Ginny but her eyes stayed locked on the hoops ahead. With her face screwed up in concentration, she flattened against her broomstick and began to slowly pull ahead. Harry followed suit, but their brooms being equal, Ginny's smaller size gave her the advantage in speed. Before she could leave Harry behind, he leaned into her side and began to push her off course. Ginny's head whipped around at him in surprise, as this was a fairly aggressive tactic for a friendly game. She slowed her broom and Harry kept beside her until they both came to a complete stop in the air.

"Come on," said Harry, his heart pounding in his chest. Had he gone too far? "You can't be _that_ upset over a little nudge . . ."

Ginny sat up straight on her broom, clasped her hands in her lap, and looked at Harry with an exaggerated air of indifference.

"Watch your head," she said calmly.

"What?"

_WHAM! _

Harry barely kept hold of his broom as the Bludger slammed into the side of his face. After the stars had stopped popping under his eyelids, Harry looked up to see Ginny glide past him on her way back to the center of the pitch, leaving a dejected Ron behind her, who glared at Harry as he swung a frustrated kick at the side of his hoop.

His head throbbing, Harry flew down to collect the Quaffle from the spot where it had landed after Ginny's scoring throw. Harry was still a little shaky when he met Ginny to prepare for his next turn to score.

"Ten to Ten," she said, with a devious smirk that hinted at the Ginny of old. Harry nearly dropped the Quaffle.

"Right," he said, and smiled despite the pounding in his head. "Ten to ten."

As the game continued, Harry and Ginny continued to play more and more aggressively. This caused Mrs. Weasley to occasionally shout words of caution or admonishment up at her daughter, which Ginny ignored. Just like Harry, Ginny could be extremely competitive, which is one of the traits that had made them two of the best players that Hogwarts had seen in many years.

As they each racked up points for their respective team, Harry proved to be a slightly better flier, but Ginny was a much better Chaser. Ron blocked some of Ginny's goal attempts, but Seamus was a rubbish Keeper and let almost all of Harry's throws past him. George was a much deadlier Beater than Percy, but now that Harry was keeping an eye out for him, the Bludger was easy to avoid. Overall, the teams proved to be an even match.

The feeling of flying, of playing his favorite sport with the people he loved most – of being with Ginny – was overpowering. Harry could not remember the last time he had truly enjoyed himself, or even the last time he had laughed. As he darted around the picturesque summer sky, Harry found that he sometimes had to look away to hide a stray tear, even while grinning stupidly. He absently thought that coming to The Burrow – even with the pain and problems his return had caused for himself and others – had been worth it just for this.

Due to his joy, or perhaps an increase in confidence that came with his extra magical power, Harry attempted moves and took chances that he normally would not. This resulted in some spectacular plays, including one in which Harry flew backwards to act as a second Keeper and caught Ginny's Quaffle throw before Ron had a chance at it. And when Harry dove toward the ground to catch an errant throw by Ginny, he pulled a showy move in which he briefly let go of his broom to plunge head first alongside it. He and the broom parted a little too much however, and Harry was forced to use wandless magic to pull the broomstick an inch closer so that he could remount it in time to pull out of the dive. As he returned to the sky, Harry caught Hermione giving him a reproachful look.

Ginny was no less the daredevil and seemed to take Harry's stunts as a challenge. With the score tied at eighty, she managed to poke the Quaffle free of Harry's grip; the ball popped higher into the air and then arced down to the ground below. Harry tore after it, flying straight down as he had done before, and this time Ginny followed suit. Side by side, they bumped each other and jockeyed for position as the ground rushed toward them. Neither was willing to back off – in fact, both sped up as they dived – but they weren't fast enough, and the Quaffle thudded into the earth. They finally attempted to pull up, but barely managed to level out their broomsticks before it was too late.

"Bugger!" yelled Harry, a split-second before he and Ginny hit the ground hard. Their brooms spun away from them as they tumbled across the grass.

A few moments passed, and Harry became vaguely aware of oncoming footfalls and the sounds of Mrs. Weasley's screams. The wind had been knocked out of him, but nothing seemed to be broken. Harry staggered to his feet, looked around, and saw something that turned the blood in his veins into ice water.

Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley, and Dean had stopped at a spot in the tall grass twenty feet away and were looking down with horror-stricken expressions.

"Har–James!" cried Hermione, who sounded very concerned. Harry kept his eyes on the group that now knelt around the place where Ginny had fallen, but knew that Hermione had run to him when he felt her hand on his arm. "Are you all right?" She asked. "Are you hurt?"

"Ginny," Harry whispered. His heart skipped a beat, and then it nearly froze when he heard a high, pealing sound come from the place where Ginny lay. He took a sudden step toward her but halted when he realized what the noise was. It was a cherished sound, one that he had not heard for years. As impossible as it seemed, Ginny was laughing.

In the space between those gathered around her, Harry saw Ginny slowly sit up, her body convulsing with laughter. Her hysterics did not subside as Mr. Weasley helped her stand; she only regained some measure of control when she attempted to speak to Harry through more laughter and stuttered breaths. After several failed attempts, Ginny finally composed herself enough to splutter out a single word.

"'B-bugger,'" she said, quoting him. After another fit of insuppressible giggles, she added, "Y-you should have s-seen your face!"

Harry failed to see what was so funny, but the sight of Ginny with dirt on her clothes and grass in her tousled hair – of her face, which beamed with joy as she laughed so hard that she cried – almost brought Harry to his knees. At long last, here was the true Ginny Weasley, carefree and full of life. A wide grin stretched across Harry's face, and with a mixture of happiness and relief, he began to chuckle, too.

"Did she land on her head or something?" asked Ron, who – along with his brothers – had just reached the ground. Ginny waved him off. "I'm f-fine," she said as her giggles finally began to subside. She dusted herself off, wiped at her wet cheeks, and pulled her broomstick up from the grass beside her.

"C'mon, then," Ginny called to Harry as she mounted her broom.

"Are you _mad_?" shrieked Mrs. Weasley, with a shocked glare at her daughter. "You just about get yourself killed and now you want to go back up there?"

"I'm _fine_ mum, really," said Ginny, and with a wicked, heart-melting smile at Harry, she took off before her mother could stop her.

Harry made to follow, but Hermione clung to his arm.

"Here James," she said. "Why don't you take a _drink_ first? You've been up there for quite a while."

Hermione gave Harry a significant look, and – recognizing the flask of Polyjuice Potion in her hand – he cottoned on.

"Yeah, okay," said Harry, and he took a quick gulp. "Thanks, Hermione."

"Don't break anything," she said with an uneasy smile. Harry patted her shoulder and then rejoined Ginny in the sky.

Each of Ginny's brothers flew over to make certain she was fit to play, and she reassured them with a continued smile and a dismissive wave of her hand. The match soon resumed against Mrs. Weasley's persistent protests, which Ginny pretended not to hear.

Harry and Ginny played at a breakneck pace. Rather than causing them to be more cautious, their crash emboldened them further and their actions became wilder, highlighted by Ginny's frequent laughs, curses, and whoops of joy. It was as if the fall had brought her back to life, and she began to play at a level that Harry could barely keep up with. Thanks to some truly amazing saves by Ron, however, Harry kept pace with Ginny until they were each only one goal away from victory.

"Hey, James!" Ginny yelled as she sped beside him, swiping at the Quaffle. "You know, you're pretty good. I reckon you could've played for Gryffindor." Harry turned his head to look at her and could not stop himself from smiling at her compliment. Just as he met her gaze, however, he noticed that her eyes flickered to a spot over his shoulder. Instinctively, Harry raised the Quaffle just in time to shield his face against another incoming Bludger attack.

"Nice try Weasley," taunted Harry. "But I don't fall for the same trick twice."

But when he turned his head back to her, Harry found that Ginny was no longer flying next to him. In the moment it had taken to block the Bludger, she had rolled underneath him to his other side. With Harry caught looking the other way, she punched the Quaffle out from under his arm, snatched it out of the air, and then looped around to fly back in the opposite direction.

Feeling somewhat embarrassed, Harry hurried after Ginny, caught up to her in seconds, and made a bold charge at the Quaffle. She avoided his reach by rolling over once again, and Harry – sticking close – rolled with her. Ginny continued to roll and Harry matched her, which sent them spiraling into a corkscrew pattern that they maintained across much of the pitch. Ginny kept the Quaffle just out of Harry's reach as they spun around each other, and while Harry began to get dizzy, Ginny started to laugh at their high-stakes game of keep-away.

As they neared Ron's hoops, Harry broke free of the chase, bolted ahead of Ginny, and then spun around to once again fly backward and act as a second Keeper. But instead of trying to maneuver around him as she had done before, Ginny charged directly at Harry with both hands holding the Quaffle out in front of her. Harry caught the ball as she rammed into him, and with all four of their hands on upon it, her momentum continued to push him backward toward the goal.

"You can't use the same trick on me twice, either," she said, and Harry looked up from the Quaffle to find that they were nose to nose. Ginny wore her most wicked grin, and flashes of flame framed her freckled face as her hair blew behind her. Her eyes blazed with a look so similar to the one she had given him from across the Gryffindor common room long ago . . .

And then, with a final burst of speed, Ginny shoved Harry backward through the center hoop as Ron flung himself out of the way. Harry – who now had sole possession of the Quaffle – inadvertently scored the winning points for Ginny's side just before smashing into a nearby group of trees.

Before his mind could catch up to what had happened, Harry found himself resting in a tangle of branches. Obscured from the others by a thick curtain of leaves, he took a moment to catch his breath, which had sped not because of his actions on his broomstick, but because of the intoxicating proximity he had come into with Ginny. He still saw her eyes blazing before him . . .

"Are you all right?"

Ginny broke Harry's reverie as she poked through the leaves and looked concernedly at him. "That was probably a bit over the line . . ."

Sunlight poured past Ginny through the opening she made in the foliage, causing her to glow with a kind of ethereal radiance. Harry smiled at her.

"Nah," he said. "The better Chaser won. You were _amazing_, Ginny."

Ginny beamed at him.

As the teams glided to the ground, Harry chanced a glance at Mrs. Weasley, who appeared to be working hard to stay silent as her narrowed eyes bored into her daughter. Mr. Weasley's hand was firmly upon his wife's shoulder.

"You should fly more often," Harry told Ginny as they both touched down. "You're really good at it."

"You're better," she countered. "I haven't seen moves like those sense . . ." Ginny looked away distractedly and her smile faltered. "Well, not for a long time."

Harry's chest – which had swelled with so much joy that he felt he might burst – deflated a little and he, too, looked away. His eyes fell on Ron, who seemed a little put out that he hadn't blocked more of Ginny's shots. Harry's best mate cheered up instantly, however, when Hermione complimented his performance and awarded him a quick kiss.

Harry had been overjoyed to learn that his two best friends were finally together, but at that moment the sight of their happiness stung, and the feeling of euphoria that had built while playing against Ginny faded further away.

As if calculated to completely wreck Harry's good mood, Dean ambled over to Ginny.

"That was, ah . . . really something, Ginny," Dean said sheepishly as he nervously rubbed the back of his neck. "You haven't lost a step since we were at school."

"Thanks, Dean," said Ginny, in what Harry considered to be a much more forgiving tone than Dean deserved. "Just be sure to remember that the next time we play, all right?"

"Yeah, okay," he said, grinning and looking relieved. Dean placed a hand on Ginny's elbow and led her away, talking excitedly about the many daring maneuvers she had made during the match. The rest of the group walked with them back to the Burrow, but Harry remained and watched Ginny as she shrank into the distance. George clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder as he passed, said "Good game, mate," and flashed a smile that gave Harry the impression that at least one of Ginny's brothers had appreciated seeing their sister return to form.

Harry gave a deep sigh, and then felt Hermione take his arm.

"It's a good thing that _I'm_ the one who already knows your secret, Harry," she whispered into his ear as Ron collected his broom. "Because after that display, I'd have figured it out in about a second." She gave him an exasperated smile, and Harry conceded her point with a shrug.

"And after what I just saw," Hermione continued in an even lower voice, "you can't tell me that you aren't still head over heels for her." Harry gave her a warning look, which did not appear to deter her in the least. Ron joined them a second later however, and Hermione did not press the matter further. Together, the three of them walked back to the house.

* * * * * * *

Harry spent the next hour wandering in and out of the Burrow, moving to a new spot whenever someone invaded his space. He wanted to be alone with both the joy and pain that took turns rising within him. A voice inside Harry's head chided him for tossing aside his better judgment and getting close to Ginny, because he knew that it would make it harder to stay away; harder to deal with what he had lost. But even as his distress began to outweigh his happiness, Harry could not bring himself to regret his actions, which had led to what was easily the best part of his past two years.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley left for Shell Cottage to attend another high-level Order of the Phoenix meeting, and Percy – who had recently been upgraded to senior status – joined them. Thinking ahead to their return, Harry hoped that he would not have to resort to listening at keyholes again to hear the most recent developments in the war against Voldemort.

Several of the people that had played Quidditch showered, and Harry took his turn last. He lingered in the hot water and steam and used the time to bring his emotions back under full control, even while reliving the many glorious moments of the match inside his head. It also felt good to spend time in his own skin – Harry's last dose of Polyjuice Potion, which he had taken just after the game, had worn off shortly after he entered the bathroom.

However, despite the comfort of being in his own body and the soothing feel of the heat on his sore muscles, Harry's spirits began to plunge as his shower came to an end. His thoughts became increasingly negative, focusing only on the fact that he could no longer enjoy the kind of happiness that accompanied his time with Ginny. By the time he began to towel off, Harry felt as if he would never be happy again.

Harry had fastened one towel around his waist and was using a second to dry his hair when he heard the bathroom door swing open.

"James!" shouted Ginny.

Harry froze. The towel in his hands covered his head, but he felt horribly exposed. There was a pause, and Harry imagined what he must look like to her with his bare chest, back, and arms covered in countless crisscrossing scars, mementos of the year he had spent in the care of Lord Voldemort.

"There's trouble," Ginny continued in an urgent tone. "Come downstairs, quick."

Harry heard the door shut, and after a moment in which his body seemed unwilling to move, he quickly tossed aside the towels, downed a shot of Polyjuice Potion, and threw on a clean pair of jeans with a black tee shirt.

Barefooted, Harry raced down the stairs, feeling colder and more panicked with each step. He found Ginny and the others pressed against the windows that looked out onto the front yard, the twilit vestiges of the setting sun casting long shadows into the room behind them. Hermione turned a fearful expression toward Harry as he approached.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked.

"Dementors," she replied in a terrified whisper.

Harry moved next her to look through the window and felt his insides turn to ice.

Across the yard, in a line that stretched wide across the invisible wall that protected the Burrow, were twenty Dementors. They writhed against the barrier, moving this way and that, searching for a way through.

"There were only a few at first," said Ron, who kept his eyes trained on the cloaked horrors. "But more just showed up. It's like . . . like they were _called_, or something."

"We've got to get out of here," said Clarence Gladstone, one of the wizards that had come to the Burrow alongside Dean and Seamus. "We've got to floo out now while we still can!"

"We can't just abandon the Burrow," said George. "The Order is low enough on safe houses as it is."

"I'm not sure that they know we're here just yet," observed Hermione. "I mean, the protective wards and charms are supposed to make the house invisible and unplottable, among other things. And Dementors can't see, anyway."

"Hermione," said Ron, "they obviously know that something's here."

"Well, yes, but I doubt whether they know exactly what it is they've found. Dementors feed on emotions; they can sense them. They must have come across ours and attempted to follow them back to their source. When they encountered the barrier, I'm sure that only made them more suspicious. And – oh!"

As Hermione spoke, a dozen more Dementors drifted into view and joined their fellows against the protective wall. At once they all began to emit a horrible hiss, the same dry rattle that accompanied the deadly Dementor's Kiss. With their great numbers, the noise sounded like a deafening swarm of angry bees.

"What are they . . ." Ginny began, but words failed her.

"This is out of control," said Dean. "We're going to be overrun . . ."

"We could fight them," Seamus said, tentatively. "I mean, if they can't get through the charms, we could just send out Patronuses to drive them away."

It suddenly occurred to Harry that, if he were to cast his Patronus, everyone would see Harry Potter's silver stag. Furthermore, he would have to conjure it without a wand, since – in an ongoing effort to appear harmless after his suspicious arrival – Harry had never asked for his wand back.

"We _could_ fight," pondered Hermione. "But then they would know for sure that people are hidden here, people who are trained against the Dark Arts. The house would be swarming with Death Eaters in . . . in n-no time . . ." Hermione reached a hand up to her face, suddenly looking ill.

"Hermione, what is it?" asked Ron, urgently. "What's wrong?"

But Harry thought he knew – he could feel it, too. He had sensed it in the upstairs bathroom and it was growing stronger, impossible to ignore: a terrible sense of hopelessness, of icy cold misery and terrible memories that were trying to claw their way to the surface.

"We can't hold out against this for long," he said.

"Mm," agreed Hermione with a slight nod. Her eyes were shut tight. "The protective charms are lessening the effect, but as more of them appear . . ."

As if on cue, several more Dementors emerged from the growing shadows, and their hissing grew louder.

Harry heard a muffled whimper and looked over to see Ginny wrap her arms tightly around her. Her head was hung low, with a red curtain of hair hiding her face. She began to tremble.

"We've got to leave," said Harry. "Now."

"All right," said George with a resigned look. "All right. Everyone get to the fireplace and –"

_BOOM!_

The Dementors' chorus of death rattles came to an abrupt halt as an invisible blast wave rippled through the air, shook the Burrow, and shattered the windows. The impact knocked Harry and others to the floor as shards of glass sprayed over them. Rolling to his back, Harry looked up to see Ron – who remained standing and had caught Hermione – looking through an open window.

"The wards are down," he yelled. "They're coming!"

* * *

Next:

With the lives and souls of those he loves hanging in the balance, Harry must confront the secret from his past that led to his new magical powers, as well as the true reason for keeping his identity a secret.

Coming soon, the eighth chapter in _The World I Leave Behind_, "Stampede."

"Quite a lot of ifs"

"As always, the choice is yours alone."

"Welcome home"

"What's life without a little danger?"

"Harry, you're scaring me."

"They were beautiful"

"It was the hardest thing I'll ever do."


	9. Chapter Eight: Stampede

A violent surge of panic jolted Harry like an electric shock.

A massive swarm of Dementors had somehow shattered the Burrow's protective wards, and the resulting blast wave shook the house to its foundation. Harry, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and the Burrow's other occupants were left scattered and disoriented. They were defenseless and the Dementors were coming.

As he scraped himself up from the glass-strewn floor, Harry saw some of his group begin to scramble while others remained dazed; a couple of people appeared injured, and everyone bore many small cuts. Dean was carefully helping Ginny to her feet; she was having trouble standing on her own. It was chaos.

They weren't all in a condition to Disapparate, and there wasn't enough time for everyone to reach the fireplace and floo out one by one. The Dementors, who had whipped themselves into a frenzied hunger as they worked to bring down the wards, would be upon them in seconds. Harry took another desperate look at Ginny and had only one thought: _keep them away. _

Acting instinctively, Harry leapt to his feet, threw open the front door, and bolted through it. Hermione called after him, but he quickly left her cries behind as he leapt from the porch and pelted across the yard toward a rapidly approaching wave of fifty hooded figures that were barely visible against the dying light of the sunset behind them.

**The World I Leave Behind**  
Chapter Eight: Stampede

Harry's heart hammered in his chest as his feet pounded across the lawn. He was within thirty feet of the Dementors . . . twenty . . . ten. With just a few strides to go, Harry fell to the ground and closed his eyes in concentration, even as he continued to slide toward the Dementors on his knees. With incredible effort he focused his magic, threw his arms above him, and then slammed his palms down onto the ground as he slid to a stop under several skeletal hands.

A shimmering dome erupted from Harry that bulged out in front of him enough to push the Dementors back a few feet, and expanded behind him as far as the front door. Looking over his shoulder, Harry was relieved to see that the rest of the group had followed him far enough to fall under his protection. They stood huddled close together on the porch and its front steps, staring in shock at Harry and the massive protective barrier he had wandlessly cast over them. As Harry returned their stares, he saw Dementors swoop up behind the group through the unprotected house and spread across the back of the dome. Harry and the others were now completely surrounded.

A mass of black, tattered robes and decayed arms thrashed in anger before Harry. Bony hands battered his shield to no avail, and several shadowed hoods knelt low to hiss mere feet from his face. The Dementors stretched around the front of Harry's dome as they frantically searched for a crack in its defense, and as the yard finally plunged into total darkness, Harry could see only flashes of grey flesh pressing in upon him.

Their efforts made it excruciatingly difficult for Harry to maintain his shield charm, and over the following minutes, keeping it up became even harder. Harry thought he knew why – more Dementors must have joined the fray. When the Burrow's protections had caved, they had gotten a full, undiluted taste of what lies within. Now certain of their prey, more had undoubtedly hastened to join the feast.

It was also becoming impossible for Harry to withstand the chilling effect of so many Dementors. He heard echoes of screams and caught flashes of his very worst memories as he struggled to stay in the present. It was a miracle he had lasted even this long against such a force; with only a few feet between him and a seemingly endless sea of Dementors – and with no Patronus to protect him – Harry would have had no chance without his enhanced magical power.

Harry rose to his knees and glanced behind him, and his heart sank even further upon seeing several motionless bodies scattered across the porch. Dean and Seamus remained standing and each tried to conjure a Patronus, but managed only vapor that dissipated harmlessly before their targets.

Ron and Hermione, however – clinging desperately to each other – had each produced a full, corporeal Patronus. Ron directed his dog, and Hermione her otter, but they had little effect against the growing army of rasping, reaching Dementors, who merely fled the areas affected by the Patronuses to pile against Harry's shield someplace else.

Harry's despair doubled when he spotted Ginny, who clung to the porch railing to remain upright, her legs apparently unable to support her. She looked as if she were fighting hard against a crushing unseen weight.

All seemed lost, and as Harry's hope faded, the Dementors' influence on him strengthened. He fell forward to rest upon quaking hands and knees, and his head dropped as it became too heavy to hold up. Harry could feel every strike against his shield and sensed the blackness closing in around him, along with the unavoidable onset of his very worst memory. Trapped with no avenue of escape, and with all of his dwindling energy needed for the shield, the most he could manage was to push back at the memory, to settle for its fringes rather than the worst parts.

- - - - - - -

"I don't understand, professor," said Harry, his voice echoing through the vast expanse of the Chamber of Secrets. "What do you mean by, 'the _true_ nature of magic?'"

Dumbledore, serene and semisolid, appeared to weigh his answer carefully as he surveyed Harry over his half-moon spectacles. Harry did not press his former headmaster, but busied himself in the strange silence by adjusting his position on the cold stone floor to lessen the pain in his injured leg. Even after a week's worth of potions, he still suffered the effects of Lord Voldemort's most recent experiments. Harry found it difficult to maneuver with one hand clutching the Resurrection Stone, and he winced as his injured knee bent a little further than he had intended. This seemed to prompt Dumbledore to speak at last.

"Very well. It seems that I was not as decided as I had thought, but under the circumstances," Dumbledore paused to give a deep sigh, "I see no alternative."

Dumbledore still wasn't making sense, but now that he seemed willing to explain, Harry thought it unwise to interrupt.

"As I was saying, I have discovered a great deal about magic since my death. Indeed, I feel certain that I have learned more about the true nature of magic in the months since my passing than I did during my lifetime. Things look differently from where I am now. I . . . _perceive_ differently. And thus, when added to the considerable store of knowledge I had already collected on the subject, these new insights have begun to paint a much more complete picture of what I know of magic. You must forgive me, however, as I have never before attempted to put my findings into words and may find it difficult to do so."

Harry gave Dumbledore his full attention as the former Hogwarts headmaster paced before him.

"How best to explain . . . Witches and wizards each contain a store of magical energy that we are able to channel into our spell work, usually with the aid of a wand. The amount of available energy varies little between us, although we are able to access only a fraction of it. For you see, we come with an inherent defect of sorts in that our bodies are not capable of safely conducting the full volume of our energies. Therefore, as a sort of self-defense mechanism, access to our reserves is limited. Do you follow me so far, Harry?"

"I . . . think so, professor. We all have the same amount of magical power, which is a lot more than we can actually use."

"Admirably succinct. Now, although we contain the same amount of magic, our degree of access to those energies can differ slightly. For example, a wizard such as Lord Voldemort – or myself, if I might be so bold – is gifted with greater access to his full potential in much the same way that another man may naturally be smarter or stronger. We are also blessed with bodies capable of conducting the extra power. This is an essential point, for when a wizard has access to more power than he can safely withstand, his mind acts to protect itself by blocking off his magic entirely. The result, sadly, is a Squib."

"Hold on, Professor – do you mean to say that Squibs can't do magic because . . . they're born _too_ powerful?"

"From a certain perspective, yes, I suppose you could say so. Were her body a match for the extra power she could have otherwise tapped, perhaps our dear friend Arabella Figg might have taught Tom Riddle a thing or two."

Dumbledore paused to smile at Harry's amazed expression.

"So, we come to you, Harry. From a young age you have always shown the signs of an especially gifted wizard, with a particularly strong proficiency for wandless magic."

"But I can't cast spells without a wand," Harry countered.

"Oh?" said Dumbledore, arcing his eyebrows high over his glasses. "Perhaps we should ask the opinion of your Aunt Marge. Ministry officials _were_ able to prevent her from floating away after you blew her up, I believe?"

"Well, yeah," Harry conceded. "Sometimes magic has just . . . _happened_ around me, but I've never meant to do it."

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, as if Harry had answered a question correctly. "Unintentional magic is not uncommon among witches and wizards, but not to the degree that you have shown, Harry. You have demonstrated wandless magic that is both unusually strong and specific to solving the problem at hand. It would have been one thing to, let's say, shatter a nearby glass in a fit of anger. But the spell against your aunt was extraordinarily complex, and focused exactly on the source of your distress. Your acts of unintended magic have always shown a similar strength and well-defined sense of purpose – re-growing your hair after an unflattering trim; relocating to the top of a building to escape the unkind treatments of your cousin – examples such as these suggest that you have access to more of your magic than is normal, and that you are sturdy enough to make use of it."

Harry considered Dumbledore's words. Since learning that he was a wizard, Harry hadn't given a second thought to those first instances of accidental magic. Had they really been all that different to what other wizarding children experienced?

"Now," continued Dumbledore, "A wand greatly helps to focus magical energy; without it, our magic is diluted, less effective. However, that lack of focus can be overcome by an exceptional amount of raw magical power."

Harry felt a jolt of excitement as he realized the point of Dumbledore's lecture at last.

"Do you mean . . . that I can learn to cast spells without a wand?"

"It is . . . possible," said Dumbledore, and the aged wizard suddenly looked grim. "But in order to perform anything beyond the most rudimentary spells, you would require access to much more of your magic."

Dumbledore paused and seemed to scrutinize Harry, who – sensing that his former headmaster still had more to say – waited silently.

"Harry," Dumbledore continued, "there may be . . . a way. I have formed a theory – and I must be clear, it is no more than educated guesswork – by which we may be able to lessen the limit on your abilities. In fact, our aim would be to remove the restriction completely. Perhaps, with training, you could learn to focus the extra power enough to aid you in an escape."

The elation that rose inside Harry must have showed on his face, because Dumbledore cautioned him with a piercing stare.

"But you must understand, Harry, that there are grave risks involved. Even if you were to succeed in gaining full access to your powers, there is a strong possibility that your body would not be able to conduct the extra energy, in which case your magic would shut down entirely."

"I under –" Harry began, but Dumbledore spoke over him.

"And I strongly suspect that the _process_ of removing your restriction would be equally dangerous, if not more so. No matter what you consciously desire, the mind will act automatically to protect itself from any potential danger – it is not unlike trying to touch your finger to your eye without blinking. And toying with the mind, Harry, is never a good idea. Great damage could be done in so many different ways."

"I understand, professor . . . but if I _can_ remove the limits on my magic, and if my body _is_ up to it . . ."

"Quite a lot of ifs," Dumbledore said in a somber tone. "But yes, Harry, it is possible that you could become able to use magic without a wand, and therefore – I hope – leave this wretched place. I must stress, however, that I would never suggest that you consider this course of action under any other circumstance. Even now, with no other option available to you, I am not certain that it is right for me to suggest it. But alas . . . I cannot sit idly by as you continue to suffer at Lord Voldemort's hands with no chance of reprieve." Dumbledore cast his eyes downward and sighed. "As always, the choice is yours alone."

Harry thought for a moment while Dumbledore continued to look away. Far from fearing the risks associated with Dumbledore's proposal, Harry felt a thrill at the possibility that it could work. It was a long shot perhaps, but still much more of a chance than he had just minutes before.

It did not feel like much of a gamble for someone who had learned to live without hope. What was the worst that could happen? Would becoming a Squib matter if Harry remained trapped in the Chamber without a wand? Could even death deter him when it was already his destiny to die by Voldemort's hand? And if he were to lose his mind . . . well, perhaps oblivion was preferable to living in hell. There was only one choice, really.

"Tell me how."

Dumbledore met Harry's eyes again, gave a grim smile, and nodded.

In the weeks that followed, Dumbledore taught Harry how to feel the magical energy that flowed through him, to focus on it and follow it back to its source. The process required thinking of magic in a new way, which was only possible with the insight that Dumbledore had gained from the world beyond.

It was a difficult process. Despite his deeper understanding of magic, Dumbledore had never before put what he had learned into practice, so he and Harry had to experiment to find the way forward. The key, Dumbledore had explained, was for Harry to find his magical core. Dumbledore wasn't certain of what Harry would be required to do upon reaching it, but he knew that, whatever it was, it needed to happen there.

Harry worked tirelessly and missed only a day of practice following an especially brutal session with Lord Voldemort. The Dark Lord was becoming increasingly frustrated by his inability to reclaim his lost soul fragment, and this drove Harry to train even harder.

Harry's meditation skills improved slowly over time, and he became increasingly in tune with himself until he could detect the magical energy that flowed through his body like the blood that pulsed through his veins. Nearly a month after Dumbledore had begun to train him, it happened.

Harry had emptied his mind and was completely at rest. He felt the slow push and pull of his inner energies and let them carry him along as if he were floating in the current. He had no conscious thoughts, but vaguely recognized a building sensation that felt like warmth mixed with the intensity of a bright light. The feeling grew stronger until it became overpowering. There was a flash and then . . . Harry was gone.

Harry had no way of telling how long he hung in the white light between existence and nothingness. He came back into being as his thoughts slowly reassembled, and it was some time before he became aware enough to question what had happened. At first it had been terribly confusing – it was as if he could _feel_ color and _see_ sound – but in time his senses oriented themselves properly. As Harry's mind returned to him fully, he realized that he had come to be surrounded by an impenetrable darkness, save for a door that had been shaped from the last remnants of the white light. Harry next realized that, for the first time in months, he felt no pain. In fact, he felt better than he ever had. With no other path before him, Harry pushed open the door.

Harry blinked and found himself standing in what appeared to be the entranceway of a house. He paused for a moment to consider how he had arrived there, but suddenly found it difficult to remember anything of his life before entering the door. Harry had been alone somewhere . . . it had been a place that he did not like. He fleetingly thought of stone walls and a snakelike face, but the images were vague, like long-forgotten memories. The only thing Harry was sure of was that he was now in a much better place than he had been.

And while Harry was certain that he had never been in this house before, it nevertheless seemed strangely familiar. As he walked into the sitting room and looked around at the humble, but comfortable-looking, furniture, he could find no details to identify where he was; he only knew that the room put him at ease. He heard a crackling fire and caught the smell of delicious food in the air.

Confused and distracted, Harry failed to notice that someone else had entered the room until a pair of arms enveloped him from behind. Startled, he spun around in time to look into a pair of deep brown eyes as they closed shut an inch from his face. Soft lips moved tenderly against his, and he felt the warmth of a body as it pressed against him. Although Harry couldn't recall much, he knew that kiss, those eyes, and that sweet flowery scent. Instinctively, he began to return the kiss just as it came to a close. As if waking from a dream, he slowly opened his eyes and stared into the freckled, flushed, and achingly beautiful face.

"Welcome home," cooed Ginny, who beamed at him with a shining smile that stopped his heart.

* * * * * * *

The Dementors howled louder than ever, and a surge of adrenaline pulled Harry fully back into the present. He had gotten too lost in the memory and his shield had flickered, causing the Dementors – who sensed his weakness – to intensify their assault on the protective dome. How long had his awareness slipped? Grunting with exertion, Harry shakily lifted his head and sent a frightened look toward the Burrow. Only Ron, Hermione, and Ginny remained standing. Harry found it incredible that they had not yet succumbed to the devastating despair generated by so many Dementors, and then noticed the luminous dog and otter running tight circles around the three of them.

Seemingly strengthened by their protective warmth, a faint-looking Ginny tried several times to cast her own Patronus with no success. But just as she appeared ready to slump to the porch, Ginny summoned a final burst of energy. With a cracked cry of "_EXPECTO PATRONUM_," a blindingly bright horse burst forth from her wand. It took only a few steps before dissolving into mist, however, and Ginny toppled into Ron, who nearly fell to the floor with her.

The sight of Ginny defenseless jolted Harry, and he tried to use his terror to tap further into his reserves. No extra strength came however, and he felt reality begin to slip away as his darkest memory bubbled back to the surface . . .

- - - - - - -

"What took you so long?" asked Ginny, who placed another small kiss on Harry's jaw. And then, suddenly, she pushed away from him just enough to look into his eyes. "You _did_ pick up dessert, didn't you?"

"W-what?" Harry stuttered, still in shock. "I . . ."

But as he cast his eyes downward, he saw that he did, in fact, carry a box.

"Perfect!" Ginny said gleefully as she peeked inside. "Now we won't have to put up with Ron's moaning and groaning. I'll just set this in the kitchen."

Ginny took the box from Harry and walked out of the room, her long ponytail bouncing behind her olive green jumper. She wore dark jeans that Harry couldn't help but notice hugged her every curve. In fact, Ginny appeared a bit curvier than Harry remembered; he had an odd feeling that she seemed a few years older than he thought she should be.

Alone in the room once again, Harry – feeling dizzy – sank into the middle of an incredibly cushy love seat and tried to get his bearings.

"Oh, good news," came Ginny's voice through the doorway. "Charlie is going to make it after all. I think that guilt trip I laid on him last Saturday worked. I can't believe the prat would even _consider_ missing mum's birthday."

Ginny reappeared in the doorframe and leaned against it, looking thoughtful with her arms folded.

"Hmm . . . we'll need to enlarge the table with so many people coming. I hope our house can withstand this many Weasleys." She chuckled, and then gave Harry a pointed look. "Since I have to cook, you're in charge of Fred and George. I don't want to see any Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes in my house."

"Um . . . right," said Harry, totally lost.

Ginny sighed.

"Maybe we _should_ have done this at the Burrow, but there's no way we could've kept mum out of her own kitchen . . . and I didn't want her to cook her own birthday dinner, you know? And, well, other than Ron and Hermione, we haven't had very many people over since we moved in . . ."

Ginny looked questioningly at Harry, and he got the impression that she was seeking reassurance that she had made the right decision.

"It will . . . ah . . . be fine," he said. And then, with more conviction, he added, "Everything will be perfect, Ginny." She smiled at him.

Harry was still a little disoriented, but things were beginning to fall into place. He had a nagging suspicion that he had forgotten something important, but everything felt right – felt like it was supposed to be.

Ginny crossed the room and lowered herself halfway to the cushion beside Harry, bumped his side with her hip and, in a teasing tone, said, "Budge over, Potter."

"Pushy, aren't we Weasley?" joked Harry as he moved aside to make room.

"'Weasley?' You haven't called me _that_ in a while," she said, a crease forming between her eyebrows. "It's 'Potter' now, remember?" Ginny held the back of her hand up to his face and wiggled a finger, which flashed as light reflected off a clear stone that was set into a thin gold ring. Stunned, Harry raised his own hand to find a gold band on his finger. Although it shocked him to see it, in the next moment it made perfect sense, as if he had always known it was there. His confused emotions did not go unnoticed.

"Are you all right?" Ginny asked, concern evident in her tender voice. "You look a little pale . . ." She placed a hand on his jaw, gently pulled his face close, and pressed her cheek to his forehead. A tear leaked from Harry's eye, and he quickly wiped it away before Ginny noticed.

"You're not warm," she said.

"I'm fine," said Harry, and his face lit up with a smile. "Never better."

"Well," said Ginny, who smirked as she lowered her face to Harry's. "As long as you aren't ill . . ."

This time Harry was ready, and when her lips shaped around his, he responded with enthusiasm. He turned his body toward her, took her face in his hands, and kissed her with such passion that Ginny was soon forced to break away, flushed and breathless. She appeared a bit startled, but pleased.

"You know," said Ginny, her eyes narrowing mischievously. "We still have a couple of hours before people start to arrive . . ."

She hooked a leg over Harry's lap.

"I still need to shower . . ."

She took Harry's hand and placed it on her thigh.

"And I could use a hand . . ."

A hot fog seemed to fill Harry's head, blocking all rational thought. Ginny wrapped her arms around his neck, snuggled against his chest, and put her lips to his ear.

"Come on Harry, don't make me beg," she whispered. "Although I will, if you want me to . . ."

Harry felt a soft bite on his earlobe.

"S-shouldn't you keep an eye on dinner?" Harry said lamely. Ginny giggled into his neck, her breath tingling the little hairs on his skin and sending shivers through his body.

"I suppose that I might burn down the house," she said sarcastically. "But what's life without a little danger?"

Harry gasped as her fingers slid softly down his stomach, inching lower and lower . . .

And then he tore his eyes from her at sat bolt upright. A feeling of unease had suddenly grown in the back of his mind, and it was so powerful that his head ached.

_Danger_, Harry thought, zeroing in on Ginny's previous words. "_What's life without a little Danger_" . . .

A singular thought had pushed its way through the fog, and Harry was suddenly certain that Ginny _was_ in danger . . . _terrible_ danger. That's why he had come here, why he could not stay . . .

"Harry, what's the matter?" Ginny looked confused and a little hurt. "You've been acting strange since you came through the door."

Harry snapped his head toward the door as another revelation exploded inside his mind. He had been somewhere else before, someplace entirely different. There had been a flash of white light . . .

"Voldemort," said Harry, as the name came to him out of thin air. It was as if he had suddenly recalled an old nightmare. "W-where . . . where is he?"

"Voldemort?" asked Ginny, looking perplexed and a little worried. "Who's that, Harry?"

Harry grunted in pain as his headache intensified. He rubbed his face with his hands and tried to make sense of the fragmented thoughts and feelings that had begun to push their way into his skull like hundreds of needles.

His fingers stopped over a smooth patch of skin on his forehead – why did it surprise him that there wasn't a scar there?

As more questions occurred to him, Harry suddenly noticed that a glowing, floating thread of energy extended from the front door, ran through the room, and disappeared around a corner. The thread pulsed as if alive, and he vaguely remembered following it to get here. Harry leapt from the sofa and followed the beam of light out of the room, where he saw it disappear into another door at the back of the house. He could feel a pull toward the door, as if he were adrift on the ocean and the current was pushing him to shore.

"Harry, you're scaring me."

Ginny had followed Harry out of the room and stood nervously behind him. As he turned around to look at her, words floated back to him from the ether.

"_The mind will act to protect itself_ . . ." It had been a warning . . . Dumbledore had said it to him.

"I think you need to lie down," said Ginny. "Come on Harry, please – let me take care of you."

Ginny held her hand out to him, and Harry had the impulse to take it. But then, in a flash of clarity, everything clicked into place and he at last understood the choice before him.

Ginny . . . the house . . . the world . . . none of it was real. This was his mind's desperate attempt to stop him from reaching his magical core and unlocking a potentially life-threatening amount of power. Harry's subconscious had conjured what he desired most, a normal life with the things he never had: a home; a family; love. Harry had never before realized just how much these things meant to him, although a part of him had known all along . . . had known that Ginny wasn't just an important part of his life, but that she was the _most_ important part.

Harry continued to stare at her outstretched hand, which – along with every other detail of this perfect, imaginary life – was as solid and real as anything he had ever seen. This world was his wildest dream come true, and with every bit of his heart, Harry wanted to stay. Even if it wasn't real, even if it left his body an empty shell in the real world, he could be happy here . . . wasn't it what he deserved? What he had been fighting for all along?

But one thought kept him from taking Ginny's hand; one single, inescapable fact: somewhere in the real world, the real Ginny was still in danger. And Harry had decided long ago that the lives of those he loved were more important than his own.

And so, with an effort that nearly tore him apart, Harry stepped away from Ginny as he eyed her hand with an unbearable longing.

"I-I'm sorry," said Harry, his legs shaking as he backed away toward the door. "I can't . . . I can't stay . . ." Ginny watched him with wide, anxious eyes.

"But, Harry . . ." Her tone was pleading. "What will I tell everyone when they arrive? What will I tell James?"

Harry halted his retreat and stared at her in confusion. It was still somewhat difficult to discern between this world and the one he belonged to, but Harry knew that his father was dead . . . wasn't he? And then Harry remembered that he had gone by that name, too – but it made no sense to hear Ginny speak of his alias here, in this place.

"When you say 'James' . . ." Harry began.

A tear spilled down Ginny's cheek, and she looked truly frightened.

"James, Harry . . . our _son_. H-he stayed overnight with mum and dad, remember?"

The world tilted and Harry had to brace himself against the wall to keep from tipping over. Something between a sob and a laugh caught in his throat, and his eyes suddenly swam in tears.

A son . . . _his_ son. His and Ginny's. Harry had never before imagined the possibility, and yet the idea was so overpowering that – even though he knew the boy wasn't real – Harry felt an inexplicable burst of joy.

"Of course . . . of course I'll be here for J-James," said Harry, his voice cracking. "I'm just going out for a little f-fresh air, that's all." Harry gave Ginny a watery smile that did nothing to erase the expression of concern from her face. More tears fell across her freckled cheeks, and Harry had an urge to wipe them away, to embrace and comfort her. But he knew that if he held her, he would never again find the strength to let her go.

Focusing on the thought that leaving was the only way to save her, Harry walked numbly to the door and opened it slowly. With a final heartbreaking surge of willpower, Harry resisted looking back at her and – with a cry of pain – stepped through the doorway into the bright void.

* * * * * * *

Harry shed fresh tears as he emerged from the memory. It was as if he had experienced everything again; had once more been forced to tear himself from the dream life he could never have. In that moment, he had thrown away his heart's deepest desire and his only chance at happiness. The nightmares that had followed were filled with Ginny's stricken face as Harry turned his back on her; of shifting, shadowed images of a young boy he would never know. Harry lived only to die now; to sacrifice himself so that Ginny and the others he loved could have the chance to create their own perfect world.

The thought of the people he loved sparked something inside him, and Harry – who had sank so low to the ground that his nose touched the grass – gruelingly pushed himself back up on his hands and knees. The impatient cries of a dark sea of Dementors washed over him, and he willed his head higher to check his shield charm, which flickered threateningly but – second by agonizing second – remained in place.

But Harry knew that his time was almost up. The Dementors – there was no telling how many had gathered by now – had sapped nearly every ounce of strength that Harry possessed. At any moment his protection would fall, and he, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and the rest would lose their souls. Ironically, Harry would _not_ die – at least, his lungs would continue to take in air and his heart would beat in his chest, although no recognizable trace of him would remain.

The shimmering barrier began to dim, and Harry could feel it fading away. The Dementors must have realized that the time to feast had come at last, because they stilled and went deathly silent in anticipation.

With what he knew to be the last of his strength, Harry took a final look back at the house. Hermione was kneeling beside Ron, who lay motionless on the porch. She held a slumped Ginny against her shoulder, and her otter – which was miraculously still there – stuck close to the three of them. Hermione's paper-white face was watching Harry intently, and when he met her eyes, her deadened expression showed a faint sign of life. She slowly rolled her head toward Ginny and spoke, her quiet voice audible in the eerie silence of the night.

"Gin . . . ny," she breathed. Hermione closed her eyes and swallowed, looking as if she were about to be sick. "Ginny . . . g-go . . ." She dipped her shoulder and Ginny slid off it to catch herself on the floor.

Her face hidden behind her hair, Ginny's arms shook violently as she pushed herself to sit up under her own power.

"G-Ginny," Hermione said, still struggling to speak. "You have to g-get . . . to James. It's our . . . our last . . . ch-chance . . ."

There was a moment's pause in which Ginny seemed ready to topple over, and then – with her head hanging limply – she began to claw her way up to the handrail above the steps. Ginny fought to her feet long enough to throw both arms over the rail before her legs went slack again, and then slowly, painstakingly, she worked her way down to the yard, step by trembling step.

Hermione, with her wand held loosely in her lap, directed her Patronus to follow Ginny, who had begun to stumble across the yard. Unseen walls of Dementors hissed at her as she teetered by them. Ginny wobbled this way and that, but somehow managed to stay on her feet.

Hermione's otter arrived at Harry first, and then finally, painfully, Ginny labored around in front of him. She swayed where she stood, looking as if an errant breeze would finish her. Her eyes were only half open, but found Harry as she looked down upon him.

Against a backdrop of slithering shadows, Ginny stretched her hand out to him, and Harry was vividly reminded of the memory he had just been forced to relive.

Harry could not have her . . . he could not have happiness. He had made that decision when he chose to protect others instead of himself.

But, through the haze of torment that weighed down upon him, Harry vaguely realized that this hopeless path was what gave the Dementors such great power over him. With no future and without love, what chance did he ever have against them?

An ounce of strength returned as Harry came to a new decision. As if in a trance, he willed himself to his knees and met Ginny's empty gaze. The only options before him were eternal darkness or the world he left behind.

Harry took Ginny's hand.

It flashed white hot in his, and he suddenly wasn't cold any more. A whirlwind of jumbled images and emotions rose within him: he was holding Ginny's hand as they strolled along the lake at Hogwarts; he was resting his head in her lap by the fire in the Gryffindor common room; he felt the sensation of her hair brushing against his skin; felt the purr in her neck as he brushed his lips across it; she was kissing him in her room on his birthday; she was running toward him after winning the Quidditch Cup . . .

The memories swirled around inside Harry and then, with a feeling of purest joy, seemed to pour _out_ of him. A stunningly bright Patronus materialized inches in front of him as if it had leapt from his chest, and was followed closely by another, and then another. A seemingly endless wave of them charged harmlessly through Ginny and then scattered in different directions to chase down the suddenly retreating Dementors, which were shredded into flickering pieces of shadow and cloth.

Harry's eyes stayed locked onto Ginny's, and he could see them come back to life by the blinding light of the stampede that surrounded them. Ginny stared back as if she were looking through Harry, and as the final Dementors were hunted down and the many Patronuses began to fade, she slowly pulled her hand from his.

The last Patronus cantered up to stop just before Ginny, and it was then that Harry realized that it wasn't a stag, but a steed – a breathtaking horse of unmatched beauty. Ginny lifted her hand to its bowed head but the horse vanished before she could touch it, its final silvery embers dying on the night breeze.

Ginny turned to look at Harry once more, her eyes alight with wonder.

* * * * * * *

The sitting room was packed with people and activity. As soon as the Dementors were destroyed and the Burrow's other occupants had regained consciousness, Ron flooed to Shell Cottage and quickly returned with his panic-stricken parents, Percy, Bill, Charlie, and Madame Pomfrey. Those that had suffered under the Dementors' presence now rested comfortably among the room's many seats and ate chocolate while wrapped in blankets. The new arrivals flitted from one victim to the next, tending to their every need. A few people had required more serious care and were given immediate bed rest in the rooms upstairs. Thankfully, however, Madame Pomfrey assured them that no lasting damage had been done.

Upon their arrival, Bill and Mr. Weasley had immediately cast new protective charms. The Burrow was not as secure as it had been before, but Bill thought it was safe enough until stronger measures could be taken in the morning.

Once everyone had been stabilized, Mrs. Weasley had brought them all dinner and then settled onto the sofa next to Ginny and Dean for the rest of the evening. Harry sat alone upon a footstool in a far corner and watched the rest of the group interact as he finished his Treacle Tart, which – Harry had deduced – Hermione had previously requested of Mrs. Weasley in preparation for his birthday.

As he did every few minutes, Harry looked fleetingly at Ginny – who was bundled in blankets and held a steaming cup of hot chocolate in her hands – and once again found her watching him. All of the life and color that had returned to her face that afternoon was gone, and she looked paler than ever before. Not for the first time, Harry wondered what the Dementors had shown Ginny to leave her so weak, and he marveled at the strength she had displayed in not succumbing to their influence.

Harry caught himself staring at her and quickly looked away toward Hermione, who he also found watching him from her seat on Ron's lap. Hermione and Ron held each other comfortingly, with her cheek resting on his shoulder. Ron looked ill, but had neglected his own recovery and tended to Hermione as if she were the only one that had suffered.

Harry next turned his attention to the plate in his hand and numbly took the last few bites of his pudding. He could feel other glances constantly brush over him; while only Ginny and Hermione had seen Harry's new Patronus, many had witnessed the wandless creation of his colossal shield charm. However, as everyone struggled with the aftereffects of the Dementors' attack or else tended to those in need, no one had yet raised the question of exactly how they had all survived.

Finally, with all aspects of the emergency under control, it was Bill who broached the subject. Harry had nothing to tell them, however – or rather, nothing he was willing to share. He shrugged and pretended to be at a loss just like the rest of them, and spoke feebly of accidental magic in times of distress. This did nothing to curtail the discomforting looks of confusion and awe that were thrown his way, but as he had just saved many of their souls – and also because, Harry knew, his Unbreakable Vow protected him against any suspicion of being dangerous – the others did not press the matter for the time being.

"Do you reckon it's safe?" Ron suddenly asked to the room at large. "To stay here, I mean. If even one of those Dementors got away . . ."

"They didn't," said Hermione in a dry, fragile voice that cracked with use. "They were all destroyed; I saw it."

"I don't think they knew we were here to begin with," said Bill. "We've gotten reports that packs of Dementors have been roaming the countryside for months, blindly searching for anyone in hiding like us. The Death Eaters know that anyplace protected by powerful charms is likely to conceal members of the resistance, and are using the Dementors' extra senses to sniff us out."

"I don't reckon they'll be back, though," Bill added with an appreciative grin at Harry. "It sounds like James took care of every Dementor for miles around."

Harry looked down again and made to busy himself with his tart, but found his plate empty. The room returned to silence as people finished eating, and when Mrs. Weasley noticed that Hermione had begun to sleep soundly against her son, she announced that it was time for bed.

Hermione awoke with a start as everyone around her began to move, and – with a bit of color returning to her face – she gave Ron a small smile as he helped her off him. Taking Ron's hand, she led him over to James, who set his plate on an end table and stood. Hermione's eyes met his, and Harry could practically hear the many questions that were no doubt buzzing around inside her head. They had not talked since the Dementors were destroyed, and Harry dreaded their next private conversation. Hermione had seen the power and shape of his new Patronus, and she alone knew what it meant. Harry could no longer pretend that he was over Ginny, and he imagined Hermione smugly telling him that she had not been fooled for one second and then redoubling her efforts to persuade him to reveal his true identity.

"What a nightmare," Hermione sighed as she approached. "And to have happened today, of all days."

"What do you mean?" asked Ron, and Hermione seemed to suddenly remember that she and Harry were not alone.

"Oh," she said, recovering. "Well, it's just that today is – I mean, today would have been – Harry's birthday."

Ron's face fell and he became silent. Harry heard a startled gasp, and – looking over Ron's shoulder – he spotted Ginny, who appeared stunned. She was staring at Hermione as if the older girl had just said something quite alarming.

"Today is the thirty-first . . .?" Ginny whispered. She seemed to be directing the question at herself.

Hermione looked stricken at Ginny's reaction to her careless comment, and seemed unsure of what to say or do. Ginny's face remained frozen and expressionless as a tear slid down one cheek and then the other. It took her a moment to realize that she had begun to cry, and she hastily wiped at the tears.

"S-sorry," she said, and she twisted her mouth into as shaky smile. "It's just that . . . I can't believe that I forgot . . ." Her poorly constructed look of indifference quickly wrenched into an expression of horrible sadness as the tears came faster. "S-sorry," Ginny said again, and then – turning away quickly to hide her face – she flew from the room.

Harry watched her go, feeling as if another hundred Dementors had suddenly swooped down upon him.

"I'll go and check on her," said Ron, who – even paler than before – appeared to have also missed the fact that his best friend would have turned nineteen that day.

As Ron hurried off, Harry shared a last pained look with Hermione before he strode from the house to his tent in the backyard, desperate to be alone with his fresh feelings of pain and shame.

* * * * * * *

Inside the tent, Harry lay on his camp bed for hours. His stand against the Dementors had left him beyond exhausted and he felt horribly drained and weakened, but his mind would not silence itself so that he could fall asleep.

Sometime around two o'clock in the morning, Harry heard soft footsteps outside his tent. After a moment in which he remained frozen in surprise, he sprang to his feet and reached for his flask of Polyjuice Potion, which sat on a bedside table; the effects of his last dose had ended hours earlier. The flask was at his lips when he heard a whisper from just outside the tent's closed entrance flap.

"Harry? Are you awake?"

It was Hermione. His heart racing, Harry returned the potion to the table.

"Yeah," he said, taking a deep breath. "Come in."

Hermione stepped inside wearing her nightdress, and her tousled hair and darkened eyes hinted that she had also lain awake in bed since their parting. She stood just inside the entrance, wringing her hands together and looking at Harry intently.

Harry sighed. He had thought that he would at least make it until morning before having to endure the inevitable "I-knew-it" speech from Hermione, who would no doubt demand that he march up to Ginny and tell her everything.

Several moments passed in silence however, until she simply crossed the ground and wrapped her arms around him. Taken aback, Harry hesitantly returned her hug.

"They were beautiful, Harry," said Hermione, with a sniffle against his shoulder.

Harry said nothing, but knew that she referred to his herd of new Patronuses. He suddenly felt uneasy and awkward, as if she had overheard him confess his most intimate dreams aloud. After a full minute in which neither of them moved or spoke, Harry gently stepped away and offered Hermione a seat on his bed, which she accepted. Harry sat next to her and she leaned against his side.

"I knew that Ginny was the only one who had a chance of reaching you; of pushing away the effects of the Dementors. I could sense it with Ron – our feelings for each other kept them from getting completely inside our heads. And I knew that you were the only one with power enough to save us. But still . . . I never could have imagined . . ."

For once, Harry did not dispute Hermione's assumption that he still cared deeply for Ginny. He had run out of strength to do so, and really, what was the point? Harry had strayed so far from the safe path he had sworn to take – first by returning to the Burrow where he was constantly near Ginny, and then by getting way too close to her earlier that afternoon – that he had no idea what he should do next.

"When I was in the Chamber," Harry began, "Dumbledore taught me how to . . . to better understand magic. He told me how to find extra power; helped me unlock it."

Harry could feel that Hermione had stiffened against him; he knew that she was obsessed with the mystery of his new abilities, but that she had avoided pressing him on the matter since it was clear that he did not want to discuss it.

"It was very risky; I could have lost my magic completely, or worse. It was stupid to try, really, but it was the only chance I had of getting out of there."

Harry paused for a minute as he worked up the courage to go on, and Hermione waited patiently for him to continue.

"Well . . . the thing is, most wizards and witches aren't supposed to have access to that much power; it could harm them. So my brain tried to . . . trick me into not going through with it. It showed me a kind of dream that felt as real to me as this feels right now, here with you. I had everything I would ever want, even things I didn't consciously _know_ I wanted. I . . . I was so tempted to stay . . ." Harry's voice trailed off as pictures of his perfect life again played before his eyes.

"But I still knew, even in my own little fantasy world, that all of you were in danger. So I left – I tore myself from that place – and it was the hardest thing I'll ever do."

Harry paused to compose himself once more, and felt Hermione reach an arm around his waist and squeeze.

"Hermione . . . I don't think I could do it again. I don't think I could look into her eyes and then . . ." A surge of emotion broke through Harry's defenses and he choked out a sob. He began to move away from Hermione but she wrapped her other arm around him and held tightly to him.

"I'm not that strong, Hermione," Harry continued in a frail voice, rushing to get the words out while he still could. "If I don't . . . don't die, then Voldemort can't ever be stopped. And all I can think about is taking Ginny and running. A part of me would . . . would doom Ginny and everyone else that I love – the whole world, even – for whatever small pieces of happiness I could get."

"Harry . . ." Hermione began, but she didn't know what to say.

Harry wiped at his eyes and gave a dark laugh.

"Want to know what really stopped those Dementors, Hermione?" Harry's voice had become cold and full of self-loathing. "I saw Ginny and decided, in that moment, that I wouldn't hide from her anymore; that I would try to be a part of her life again."

"But Harry, don't you see?" pleaded Hermione, her face wet with tears. "Your love for Ginny, it saved us! It –"

"I wasn't trying to be _noble_," spat Harry. "I saw an excuse and seized my chance; I saw a way to justify my selfishness. I . . . I . . ."

But Harry had reached his limit and could say no more. He tried again to rise from the bed, but Hermione would not let him escape her embrace.

"If you . . . if you really must . . . _die_," Hermione choked on the word, and Harry could tell that it cost her a great deal to admit the possibility. "Then don't – _please_ don't – shut us out. We love you, Harry – _Ginny_ loves you – and we should be with you . . . for as long as we can."

Harry's eyes stung as he fought hard to swallow his emotions. He did not deserve Hermione's words of support and comfort; he wanted to hate himself for being weak and hurting the people he loved. Angry and helpless, he made to shout at her but spluttered out another sob instead.

Perhaps sensing a final opening in Harry's defenses, Hermione ruthlessly seized her chance.

"Will you tell Ginny – and Ron – the truth?" Her voice was pained but determined. "_Please_ Harry, for their sake as well as yours."

Harry's face screwed up in anguish as his resolve fell even further. He could not face her as he replied.

"M-maybe," he relented with a stuttered breath, and then the dam broke. As a stream of sobs violently shook loose, Harry finally fought free of Hermione's arms and swayed to his feet. She was quick to follow him, however, and recaptured him immediately. Hermione forced his head to her shoulder and, with no strength left to fight, Harry gave in. He wept as he had not done since his time alone in the Chamber of Secrets, when he would awake each morning having once again left behind a dream that could never come true.

* * *

Next:

Voldemort is on the move, and secrets are revealed that leave Harry lost as he struggles to find the way forward.

Coming soon, the ninth chapter in _The World I Leave Behind_, "The Ghost at the Confessional."

"The _Weasley_ girl?"

"Something to help you remember your promise."

"Ouch!"

"I do not believe we 'ave met."

"Happy late birthday."

"I can't stay frozen forever."

"Goodbye, Harry."


	10. Chapter Nine: Ghost at the Confessional

"You have a lot of nerve, summoning me here," huffed Lucius Malfoy, his voice thick with disdain. "Do you realize what it would mean if the Dark Lord were to notice my absence?"

"_Does_ he notice you anymore?" asked Harry. "I was under the impression that he doesn't exactly ask you around for tea these days."

Lucius glared at Harry from across a wooden table that the younger wizard had conjured – along with two chairs – before the Death Eater arrived. They sat under the moon in a field of tall weeds that was surrounded by trees on all sides. Harry had forgone his last dose of Polyjuice Potion and did not wear his usual disguise.

Malfoy looked as if he wanted to retort, but his eyes shifted to Kreacher, who stood a few feet away. Harry smiled. Lucius could not pretend to have regained Lord Voldemort's favor when the wandless, demoted Death Eater had needed to rely on a house-elf for transportation to the meeting.

"Things could easily change," said Lucius, lowering his voice into a cold and threatening tone. "If I were to bring you back to the Dark Lord, all of my past failures would surely be erased and I could retake my rightful place at my master's side. He would reward me above all others for such service – my family name would be restored; my wife would be safe. I would be given a wand."

Malfoy leered greedily at Harry, who stared back for several silent moments. Harry remembered Hermione's words of warning; she hadn't wanted him to meet Lucius alone.

"You're probably right," Harry admitted with a shrug. "You could get a lot for turning me in . . . but you won't do it."

"You presume too much, Potter." Lucius placed his hands upon the table and leaned across it, his narrowed eyes stopping just inches from Harry's own. "What would you say, I wonder, if I told you there were fifty Death Eaters in these woods tonight?"

**The World I Leave Behind**  
Chapter Nine: The Ghost at the Confessional

Harry sighed.

"Do you have a point, Lucius? If not, then we should get started. We both know that you haven't told anyone you were coming to meet me, so drop the act."

Lucius fell back into his chair and folded his arms.

"Don't think I didn't consider it."

Harry ignored this.

"What's been going on at Hogwarts? What can you tell me?"

Lucius gave Harry one last contemptuous look before he answered.

"I take it you have heard about Gawain Robards, the head of the Auror office?"

Harry slumped back in his chair, grimaced, and nodded. The night air seemed to cool several degrees as he recalled the news that Bill had brought to the Burrow the day before: Robards – along with his wife and two daughters – had been killed in their family home. Worse, another Harry Potter imposter had committed the murder. As with the original 'Potter' attacks, the explosion had left nothing of the killer or his victims. When Ron was told, Hermione had to stop him from charging off to Hogwarts to face the Death Eaters in a fit of blind fury. Ginny's reaction was even worse. Harry had sat helplessly downstairs while Mr. and Mrs. Weasley tried to calm Ginny in her room. Every one of the muffled, angry screams that came down the steps had twisted into Harry like a dull knife.

"What's he playing at?" spat Harry. "Dressing up Death Eaters like me and sending them out to –"

"Death Eaters?" repeated Lucius, raising his eyebrows. "Why would the Dark Lord waste loyal Death Eaters on suicide missions when so many other willing – or perhaps I should say _unwilling_ – volunteers are close at hand?"

Harry stared at Lucius, and then felt a brick drop into his stomach.

"Students . . ." Harry whispered. "Imperiused . . ."

Lucius said no more, but clasped his hands on the table and sat patiently as Harry absorbed the horrible truth. Harry could not tell if Malfoy was bothered by the use of underage witches and wizards as human bombs, but the Death Eater was clearly enjoying the effect his information had produced.

Harry absently rubbed his forehead as he began to feel sick. Had any of Voldemort's sacrifices been someone Harry had known?

"Who . . ."

"I do not know."

Harry took a deep breath and went on. "Why Robards? Why now?"

"After following Death Eater orders for months, I hear that the man lost his nerve. Too many Muggle killings for his weak stomach, I think. Robards could have been controlled of course, but the Dark Lord prefers his Ministry officials to be more loyal than the strength of an Imperius Curse. And when Robards became a liability, I believe that the Dark Lord used the execution as an opportunity to remind the wizarding world that to approach someone wearing the face of Harry Potter is to risk death."

Anger began to flare within Harry, but then he realized something.

"Wait . . . he knows that I haven't already told the Order I'm alive?"

"Well, he did see you escape the castle with the Mudblood, Granger. But yes, other than her, the Dark Lord believes you to be alone. If he did not, there would be no need for him to keep your continued existence a secret from the other Death Eaters, who still do not know it was Harry Potter they chased through the storm when you fled the castle."

"But how would he know that I haven't told . . ." mused Harry, and then something else clicked into place.

"The spy," he said, checking Lucius's face for confirmation. "He still has a spy reporting to him from within the Order."

"I would not know," said Lucius, who looked indifferent. "Such a matter is above my stature."

He gave a sigh of longing and seemed wistful for the days when he would have been privy to such high-level information. This further reminded Harry that he was not dealing with a friend, but a Death Eater. Despite the symbiotic relationship they had shared during Harry's year of imprisonment, Lucius had always been a cruel, ruthless opportunist who did whatever it took reach his goals. With a nearly uncontainable surge of hatred for the man, Harry remembered that it was Malfoy who had marred Ginny's first year at school by planting Tom Riddle's diary on her, an act that had nearly resulted in her death.

"Give me something I can use," Harry said with his fists clenched. "I know you, Lucius – you've always got your eyes open, looking for anything that can be turned to your advantage. You must have seen something . . ."

"Perhaps," said Lucius, with an exaggerated lack of interest. "Perhaps not. But _you_ tell _me_ something, Potter. I've been dying to know: how did you escape the Chamber of Secrets?"

Harry, his temper barely in check, simply stared at Malfoy, who stared back. Suddenly, Harry felt an unnerving tug at his mind. Recognizing the attempt at Legilimency, he quickly cast about for thoughts unrelated to the secret of his new powers. Lucius frowned as he sifted through a barrage of random images, and then gave an incredulous laugh.

"The _Weasley_ girl?" He asked in a mocking tone. "Really Potter, with a world of witches willing to hike up their skirts for the 'Chosen One,' you settled for the dirt-poor daughter of a disgraced wizard? What, did Arthur Weasley trade her to you for more Muggle rubbish?"

Lucius closed his eyes in laughter, but upon returning his gaze to Harry, he abruptly fell silent. Harry burned with such rage that he felt he might explode. Angry heat radiated off him in visible waves, and the table shook as if it were about to be blown to bits. Lucius gaped at Harry as if he were seeing him for the first time.

"I could _make_ you tell me what I want to know," Harry growled, "but I would rather keep you in one piece so that I can use you in the future. You gave Draco your word that you would help me; are you going to keep your promise or not?"

"I _kept_ my word," shouted Lucius, who – at the mention of his late son's name – was no longer cowed. "I kept you fed and tended to your wounds; I kept you alive for an entire year –"

"Draco said to help me as long as I kept fighting; for you to pay off the life debt he owed me."

"What do you expect of me?" Lucius yelled, raising his voice even higher. "With you gone, they have me assisting the school _caretaker_! What can I tell you? That a Ravenclaw boy was whipped for landing a Fanged Frisbee on top of the greenhouse? That someone set off Dungbombs in the owlery?"

Lucius had leapt to his feet during the outburst, but Harry remained seated and stony faced.

"I thought it would come to this," he said. "Kreacher, could you get it now, please?"

"Yes, master Harry," croaked the old house-elf in his deep bullfrog voice. "Kreacher will bring it to you without delay." With a bow and a crack, he vanished.

Harry and Lucius continued to glare at one another, and after a few seconds, Malfoy fell back into his chair with a grunt and once again folded his arms.

With a second loud crack, Kreacher reappeared. He stood next to a large pine box, his head barely visible above the wild weeds.

Lucius paled as his eyes fell upon the casket.

"What is this?" he demanded in a whisper.

"Something to help you remember your promise."

Harry remained seated as Lucius hesitantly rose to his feet and slowly made his way to where the house-elf stood. Kreacher backed away and returned to Harry's side. When Lucius reached the coffin, he paused for several moments before carefully sliding off the lid.

With one glance inside he fell to his knees and gasped. Harry looked away. Despite the anger that he felt toward Lucius, it wasn't easy to watch a father discover the mutilated remains of his only child. Harry heard another quick intake of breath and knew that Lucius had found the broken body that lay beneath Draco's burial robes.

"What . . ." Lucius began before pausing to clear his throat. "What have you done to him?"

"He was in worse shape before Arthur Weasley found him," Harry said, mercilessly. It was important that Lucius understand exactly what Lord Voldemort had done. "Your _master_ had somehow altered the body to look like me, and he hung it up in the middle of Diagon Alley for everyone to see. And, well, you can see what he did to it. Mr. Weasley tried his best to repair it, but the damage was done by powerful curses."

Harry paused to let the image of Draco's ruined body, strung up before a crowd of gawkers, sink in. After several silent minutes, he went on.

"I'm asking you to help me, so I'm giving you something in return. I brought Draco here so that you could give him a proper burial. He deserves that . . . not to be left to rest in secret under a mislabeled headstone."

Lucius did not immediately respond, but continued to stare into his son's casket as more quiet moments stretched on. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded hollow, defeated.

"More . . . more Death Eaters come to the school every week . . ."

"So I've heard," said Harry. Lucius did not acknowledge the interruption.

"They gather in stages; by the thirteenth, every Death Eater is supposed to be there."

"The thirteenth?" asked Harry, his curiosity piqued. "What happens then?"

"I don't know. Something big, I think. It is unusual for the Dark Lord to rally all of his supporters at once."

Harry's heart began to race as his mind spun into action. Was Voldemort ready to take his final step toward eternal life? Could his new scheme to achieve immortality, whatever it was, be planned for the thirteenth? It would fit, Harry reasoned, that Voldemort would want a full audience to witness him achieve ultimate power at last. If this was his plan, it left Harry with little more than a week to stop him . . . little more than a week to live.

"There is . . . one other thing," Lucius continued. "He is rounding up all of the Muggle-born children and bringing them back to Hogwarts."

"What?" asked Harry. "I thought only pure-bloods were allowed at school now – didn't he run the Muggle-borns out of the country, or else lock them all up?"

"I do not pretend to understand the Dark Lord's motives; I only know that the children began to arrive a few days ago. Groups of Snatchers were sent out to comb the country for those in hiding; some Death Eaters have even gone abroad to search."

Harry let the information sink in. He could not imagine what it meant, but it was troubling news since Lord Voldemort had as little regard for the lives of Muggle-borns as he had for Muggles.

"Is that everything?" Harry asked.

Lucius took a deep breath, closed his son's coffin, and labored to his feet.

"Yes . . . yes, that is all." He sighed. "I will inform you of any other developments."

"Use Kreacher," Harry suggested. "If you have anything for me, call for him and he'll come to you. Tell him what you know and he can pass it on to me." Harry turned toward the house-elf. "Is that okay, Kreacher?"

"Yes, master. Kreacher is honored to serve in any way he can."

"Thanks," said Harry. "Can you take Lucius someplace to leave the casket before you bring him back to Hogwarts?"

"Of course, master – whatever you wish."

Kreacher went to stand next to Malfoy, who – even though drained and docile – eyed the elf with disgust.

"I would like to leave Draco with his mother at our home, Malfoy Manor," Lucius said to Harry, refusing to address Kreacher. "She can see to him without anyone knowing."

Kreacher placed one hand upon the pine box and held his other out to Lucius.

"Just one more thing, Lucius," said Harry. "If something happens to me . . . I want you to continue passing information to Hermione Granger."

"Work with the Mudblood," sighed Lucius, looking as if nothing mattered anymore. "Why not."

"Thank you," Harry said. And with a nod to Kreacher, Lucius, the house-elf, and Draco's remains were gone.

* * * * * * *

Once again under the effect of Polyjuice Potion, Harry Apparated just outside the Burrow's protective enchantments with the faintest pop. The myriad charms and wards were nearly as strong as they had been before the Dementors brought them down, due to the tireless work Bill had put in during the two days since the attack.

Harry gave a sigh and smiled faintly. Although he hadn't been gone for long, returning to the Burrow always felt like coming home. He glimpsed a silhouette in a downstairs window and knew that Hermione had seen his arrival; she had told him that she would stay up until he was safely back.

Harry felt the faintest tingle as he walked through the Burrow's magical protections, which had been built to allow all of the house's occupants through. Harry had been pleased that Bill included him among those trusted to come and go, although it might not have mattered since – for reasons that remained a mystery – the original charms failed to keep Harry out before.

Harry quietly walked behind the house and found Hermione holding the back door open for him. She wore a relieved smile and wordlessly beckoned him to follow her to the kitchen table, where a steaming mug sat before a chair that had been pushed back.

"I just made hot chocolate," she whispered. "Would you like some?"

"Um, sure . . . thanks," said Harry, and he took a seat. He rubbed his eyes wearily, and then pulled out his wand – which he had hastily retrieved from Percy after having been caught without it against the Dementors – and laid it on the table. Hermione quickly joined him with a second mug.

"So," she said, leaning forward to whisper again. "What happened? I've been worried sick."

After a long, warming gulp from his cup, Harry recounted his entire meeting with Lucius. Hermione was alarmed to hear of the unprecedented gathering of Death Eaters that was set to take place in several days, and was just as perplexed as Harry by Voldemort's order to bring underage Muggle-born witches and wizards back to the school. But her greatest shock came when she heard that students – under Death Eater control – had committed the suicide attacks. Hermione gasped and covered her mouth with her hand, and Harry felt a fresh wave of nausea upon seeing her stricken face.

"Oh my God, Harry . . . w-what if one of the Imperiused attackers was someone we know? After You-Know-Who took control of Hogwarts, the Death Eaters rounded up every underage witch and wizard they could find and forced them back to school. Luna and Neville are there . . ."

"What?" said Harry, nearly knocking over his hot chocolate.

"Ron told me. The last time anyone saw Luna, she had gone to get some things from her house. Everyone had just fled the battle at Hogwarts; it was chaos. Neville wouldn't let Luna go alone, so he went with her . . . and they disappeared. Professor McGonagall is fairly certain that she saw them at Hogwarts while she was there, but she can't remember any other details; the Imperius curse that You-Know-Who put on her was too strong." Hermione took in a shaky breath. "They would have graduated by now, but, well . . . no one has left Hogwarts since the Death Eaters took over . . ."

Harry's blank gaze drifted to the table as he considered the terrifying possibilities of Hermione's news. Why hadn't he thought to ask about Neville and Luna before? Had he been so focused on his own troubles that he completely forgot his friends? A twinge of guilt mixed in with his fear as he saw them clearly in his mind.

Luna was so honest and unfiltered that one of her candid observations could easily rile a Death Eater, and Neville previously caused so much trouble for the Carrows while at Hogwarts that he had been forced to flee to the Room of Requirement . . .

"They'll be all right," Harry muttered, more to convince himself than Hermione. "Luna's smart and Neville's tough, and they've been in bad spots before."

Hermione nodded but said nothing; her watery eyes were fixed on the mug in her hands. The room remained silent for several minutes before Harry – casting about for a way to lessen the tightening in his chest – asked about Hermione's day. The tension eased as they settled into chitchat about the day's many mundane events. Harry even chuckled a little when he heard of a particularly clever prank that George had pulled on Seamus. Things were just starting to feel normal again when . . .

"Oh!"

Harry followed the startled sound to the doorway and felt as if he had been simultaneously stunned and confounded. Ginny stood there wearing nothing but a white, oversized tee shirt, with her long, disheveled hair draped over her shoulders. Although she revealed no more skin than she did when wearing her summer clothes, Harry's face heated up instantly and he felt conflicting impulses to both stare at her and look away. He barely had enough presence of mind to lay his arm on the table to cover his wand, which he could not be sure Ginny wouldn't recognize.

"Hi, Hermione . . . James," said Ginny. With an awkward glance at Harry, she folded her arms across her chest. "What are you two doing up so late?"

"I couldn't sleep," replied Hermione, which is what Harry had intended to say before he found his voice missing. "How about you?"

Ginny shrugged.

"I woke up thirsty and thought I'd have a drink of water."

There was an uneasy moment in which Harry kept his eyes glued to the table, but he looked up when he heard the soft patter of Ginny's bare feet as she crossed the room, collected a glass, and began to fill it at the sink. With her back turned to him, Harry could not stop himself from admiring her legs.

"Ouch!"

Hermione spilled some hot chocolate as she quickly lowered her mug to the table and then fanned her hands in the air. A heartbeat later, Harry released his mug as it burned him, and he looked down to find its contents boiling.

"Are you all right, Hermione?" asked Ginny. "Did you make it too hot?"

Harry looked into Hermione's face and was confused to find her trying – and failing – to hold back a smile as she returned his gaze.

"I'm . . . I'm all ri –"

But before she could say any more, a most un-Hermione-ish giggle broke through her words. She clasped a hand over her mouth and continued to look at Harry with eyes that had narrowed in apparent mirth. Ginny followed Hermione's stare and, upon seeing Harry, raised her eyebrows and quickly turned away.

"Well, good night," said Ginny, and she hurriedly took her glass from the room.

Hermione looked determinedly away from Harry as she placed her other hand over the first in an increasingly desperate effort to smother her laughter. When they finally heard Ginny climb the stairs and shut her bedroom door, Hermione let slip a snort between her fingers that caused her to blush in embarrassment.

"What?" Harry demanded in a whisper. The looks he had received made him feel extremely self-conscious. Annoying him further, it took Hermione a minute to suppress her giggles enough to speak.

"I'm s-sorry, but your . . . your f-face," she said with difficulty.

Harry turned toward the kitchen window and caught a glimpse of his reflection – his face was so flushed that he appeared to have very bad sunburn. If he didn't feel so humiliated, Harry might have found his complexion as amusing as Hermione.

"I take it you approve of Ginny's nightclothes?" teased Hermione as she wiped away tears of repressed laughter.

Harry felt his face burn even hotter as he crossed his arms and looked away, irritated.

"I suppose that I should avoid drinking anything near you when she's showing a bit of skin," Hermione chuckled. She pulled out her wand to clean the magically heated liquid from the table.

"It wasn't that," snapped Harry.

"Oh, come on, Harry – I didn't mean to laugh. Ginny is a very pretty girl and you're crazy about her; there's nothing wrong with –"

"It was the shirt," Harry protested. "Not the . . . not the other bits." This was largely untrue, but Harry's embarrassment would not allow him to agree with anything Hermione said while she looked so smug.

Hermione gave him a look of disbelief.

"The _shirt_ got you so heated up that you boiled my hot chocolate?"

"No, it's just . . . that was _my_ shirt. I mean, it used to be."

Against his will, Harry felt a swell of pride as he thought of Ginny covered in something that was once his; it was as if his claim to her were still there, although Harry knew he had no right to think so. He thought back to the pains he had received at seeing the many small touches between Dean and Ginny, and the monster inside Harry gave a vengeful roar.

"That huge shirt was _yours_?"

"Well, it was Dudley's first."

Hermione's smile slid away and Harry turned his attention to his mug, tentatively touching it to see if it had cooled. He could feel her eyes upon him and sensed the mood in the room shift from amusement to pity. Harry didn't know which he liked less.

"Harry . . ."

Hermione adopted the soft, pleading tone that she so often used in her attempts to persuade him to reveal his true identity to Ginny and Ron. Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Didn't I _tell_ you?" she pressed on. "Haven't I said it all along? Ginny still hasn't gotten over you, Harry. Don't you think –"

"I said that I would consider it, Hermione. I just . . . I haven't figured out the right time, or . . . or the right way."

"You're stalling, Harry. Why not tell her now?"

"_Now_?" said Harry, in a much louder voice than he had intended.

"We can go up to her room together; I can help you explain. I could wake up Ron, too. Since everyone else is asleep, now would be a good time."

Harry's determination to keep the truth hidden had weakened to such a degree that a part of him was suddenly ready to stand, climb the stairs, and knock on Ginny's door. He was so close to considering it that he felt a rush of adrenalin and it suddenly became hard to breathe.

Hermione seemed to sense that Harry was closer to giving in than ever before, because her eyes grew wide with excitement and she leaned forward to place both hands over one of his on the table.

"It would mean so much to them, Harry," she begged. "Especially after what happened yesterday."

She had said the wrong thing. The memory of Ginny's reaction to the new "Potter" killings sobered Harry instantly. It had deeply wounded him that he had – however remotely or inadvertently – been involved with something that caused Ginny so much anguish. If the mere mention of his name could still cause that kind of a reaction more than a year after his death, he could do much more harm by picking at the wound, especially when it seemed that – with Voldemort's plan about to be put into action – Harry was down to his last few days.

He let out a deep breath and pulled his hand out from under Hermione's.

"No . . . I don't think now is a good time."

"_Harry_ –"

"No, I'm sorry, but that's my final word on it for tonight." Harry grabbed his wand from the table and stood. "We should both get a little sleep before everyone is up. Goodnight, Hermione."

Before Hermione could argue, Harry exited the kitchen.

* * * * * * *

Harry traded his early-morning training for a lie in, but still managed only a couple hours of sleep before he rose for breakfast. He had just begun to dream, and his waking pulled him from the beginnings of a favorite recurring vision of soft skin, flaming hair, and warm, sweet-smelling breath. He took his time getting dressed, clinging to the fading fragments of the dream despite the fact that they caused a pang of guilt somewhere in his stomach.

After taking the day's first hated dose of Polyjuice Potion, Harry left his tent and joined the others inside the house. He was late to breakfast and felt Hermione's piercing stare as he filled his plate. Harry wasn't ready to endure her continued efforts to persuade him, so he spent his meal chatting animatedly with Ron about Quidditch and did not give her a chance to speak to him alone.

Harry avoided Ginny, as well. When at one point their eyes met, he quickly looked away, embarrassed.

After eating, Harry helped George de-gnome the garden and then continued to find ways to stay out of Hermione's reach as the morning wore on. Just as he ran out of distractions and Hermione appeared to have him cornered, Fleur flooed over from Shell Cottage and caused Harry to momentarily forget that he was on the run. It wasn't the part-Veela's silvery blonde hair or radiant smile that distracted him, however; it was the bundle in her arms.

"Fleur . . . had a baby?" Harry whispered to Hermione, who had caught up with him at last.

"A girl," said Hermione with a smile, and she paused her pursuit to watch the child as Fleur stepped from the fireplace to receive hugs and greetings from a gathering of family and friends. "Her name is Victoire; she's about a year old."

"How am I just finding out about this?" Harry chuckled. He found it amazing that the worst year of his life had produced something so wonderful.

"Well, you hardly talk to anyone, do you?" said Hermione in a mildly scolding tone. "I only just found out myself; Ron is still catching me up on everything I missed."

Fleur turned her beaming face toward Hermione, who stepped forward to receive a one-armed hug.

"'Ermione!" shouted Fleur. "Eet is so wonderful to see you! I 'ave been meening to come visit ever since Bill told me you had returned, but eet is difficult to leave ze cottage with so many guests to tend to and Victoire to care for . . ."

"She's beautiful," said Hermione, who smiled brightly at the child.

"Would you like to hold 'er?" asked Fleur, who did not wait for an answer before extending Victoire toward Hermione. "I could use a moment to put zis away." Fleur glanced at a large bag that rested at her feet.

Hermione seemed a bit nervous, but pleased as she took the baby into her arms. As Fleur began to busy herself with her bag, Harry stepped forward to get a better look at Victoire. She was glorious. Already, it seemed apparent that she had inherited her mother's beauty. Her wide, searching eyes found Harry, and she gave him a little smile that won him over instantly.

"I do not believe we 'ave met," said Fleur, who extended her hand to Harry. He shook it.

"I'm James," he said. "It's great to meet you."

"Fleur!" said Bill, who had just made his way over to them. "I didn't think you were supposed to get here until later this afternoon." He did not wait for an answer before taking his wife in his arms and kissing her. Harry looked away as, for a moment, the two of them seemed to forget that others were present.

"Poppy and Minerva offered to take care of zings so I could come early," said Fleur after emerging for air. "You 'ave been here for days, and I could not wait a minute longer."

Bill beamed at her, placed another quick kiss upon her lips, then turned to Hermione and took his daughter.

"C'mere, squirt," he said, and Victoire squealed with delight as she was brought to her father's chest. Bill doted over her while Fleur watched them both with great affection, and the family portrait was complete.

An unexpected surge of emotion caught Harry by surprise as he continued to watch them, and at that moment, he considered Bill to be the luckiest man in the world. Harry's spirits dipped, however, as he thought of Teddy Lupin – Harry would die having never met his godson. And Harry's happy reprieve came to a complete end when he remembered another child – a boy that had never existed, but for whom Harry grieved nonetheless.

Mrs. Weasley stole her granddaughter away from Bill, and she and Mr. Weasley wore wide, proud smiles as they ushered Bill and Fleur into the kitchen. Their group had captured Harry's attention so completely that he failed to notice he had been left alone with Hermione.

"I know that you're trying to avoid me right now," she whispered beside him, "but I've got something that I know you'll want to hear."

Harry came back to his senses and eyed her suspiciously.

"After last night, I wondered if any more of your old things might still be here somewhere. I asked Ron about it just before breakfast, and as it turns out, they did save quite a few of your possessions, Harry – including the Invisibility Cloak."

Harry was instantly at full attention. He had often thought of the cloak and how it might aid him in the task that lay ahead, but had written the item off as being lost for good.

"Where –"

"In the attic. According to Ron, no one ever goes up there. It . . . seemed to be a bit of a sore point. He didn't want to talk about it much."

Harry thought for a moment.

"Thanks, Hermione. The cloak could come in really useful. I suppose that it shouldn't be too difficult for me to slip up there and take it while everyone is having lunch." Harry nodded to himself and then cast a sideways glance at Hermione.

"Is . . . that all?"

Hermione sighed and took his hand.

"I'm not going to lecture you anymore, Harry. All I ask is this: take today and really consider what I've said. I know that telling them your secret won't be easy, but you know that it's the right thing to do – and you always do the right thing in the end. Get away from everyone for a little while and just think it over – you can use the cloak. With so many people here and so much going on, you should be able to disappear for an hour or two. I won't bother you. And then, tonight, let's talk again in your tent. All right?"

Harry deflated. He had fortified himself against her usual frustrated attack, and her softer approach disarmed him. What's more, her suggestion made perfect sense, and he could not deny that had already put off making the decision for too long.

"Yeah," he relented. "All right. Thanks, Hermione."

She gave his hand a squeeze and then left him to his thoughts.

* * * * * * *

With everyone busy downstairs at lunchtime, it was easy for Harry to sneak up to the attic under the pretense of visiting the bathroom. Holding his breath against the stench of the ghoul that slumbered there, Harry quickly found his effects – which mostly consisted of the odd shirt or sock that had been lost in the laundry – took his Invisibility Cloak, and raced from the room.

Harry spent most of the day under his cloak. He put in the occasional appearance so as not to arouse suspicion, but would quickly return to the solitude that invisibility gave him. He spent hours wandering the far corners of the Weasleys' land, or else watched others in secret. The total anonymity allowed him a kind of heightened objectivity; he witnessed people go about their lives as if he were already gone, a ghost watching from the world beyond.

His heart warmed with a kind of pride as he observed his two best friends together. Harry rarely saw Ron and Hermione bicker anymore, who instead seemed to bring each other to life simply by sitting together, talking, or holding hands. Had he not cared for them so much, Harry could not have withstood his envy. He tortured himself over the impossible position he had put Hermione in, and for letting Ron – who was like a brother – believe him dead. But Harry knew, at least, that they would be okay because they had each other.

It was much harder for Harry to justify his actions while he watched Ginny. And now that he could finally gaze at her with impunity, he found it difficult to look at her for long. He often caught Ginny staring off at nothing, absorbed in her private thoughts, while others talked animatedly around her. She hid her disinterest well, however, somehow knowing to speak when the conversation called for it so as not to draw attention.

The only time that Ginny truly seemed present was when she was handed Victoire, whom Harry suddenly realized was her niece. 'Auntie Ginny' – Harry was simultaneously amazed and amused to think of her that way – laughed, cooed, and giggled as she played with the child. Dean joined them on the sofa and pulled funny faces, which Victoire responded to with enthusiastic sounds of approval. As the three of them laughed and played, Harry was reminded of the familial scene that had struck him so powerfully when Bill and Fleur held Victoire. He avoided Ginny from then on.

Whether hidden among a crowd or strolling alone by the trees, Harry thought in circles about his options. The problem was that he didn't trust the part of him that argued for telling Ginny and Ron the truth, because he could not be sure that he wasn't putting his own wishes ahead of what was best for them. And despite his many reservations, Harry desperately craved the comfort that Ginny and Ron could give him.

Before Harry knew it, night began to fall. He put in a quick appearance at dinner, then donned the cloak again and went back outside. As he walked, he let his last dose of Polyjuice Potion expire and enjoyed the extra freedom that came with being in his own skin.

Harry wandered aimlessly and his feet carried him to a place that he had thus far avoided: his grave. Before emptying it of Draco's casket the night before, Harry had not visited the spot since his first night back. Then, he had come to pay his respects to Fred, whose final resting place was next to his own. Harry had felt it important to see the place where Fred's body was buried, although he hadn't experienced the grief that would normally accompany such a visit. Using the Resurrection Stone, Harry had frequently talked to Fred for an entire year while imprisoned in the Chamber of Secrets, and knew him to be happy and at peace. Harry only wished that the Weasleys did not have to endure such a loss.

Thinking of Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley, and especially George, Harry re-read the inscription on Fred's headstone:

_Blessed is he who lives a joyous life, and blessed are those who share his joy. _

With a heavy heart, Harry turned his eyes to the passage written on his own headstone:

_Neither time nor parting can conquer love, nor halt the beating of a brave heart. _

The words left his throat dry and his eyes wet, just as they had done when Harry first read them. He wondered who had chosen them.

It was much more difficult for him to look at his own grave. It meant everything to Harry that the Weasleys had intended to bury him at the Burrow as if he were one of them, a true member of the best and only real family he had ever known. But if all went according to plan, he would not be placed there when he finally met his end. Upon taking Voldemort's Killing Curse, Harry would leave his body in the care of the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters. Under such circumstances, the best he could hope for was an unmarked grave far away from family and friends.

Harry shuddered, and for the first time noticed a slight chill in the night air.

His morbid musings were interrupted by distant sounds of movement, and he spun around to spot someone exiting the back door of the Burrow. The soft yellow light that poured out of the house and onto the backyard framed the shadowed figure, which moved to a group of trees, stooped for a minute as if picking something up, and then continued walking. With a start, Harry realized it was Ginny. And then, with an even greater jolt, he noticed that she was walking directly toward him.

As she came near, Harry silently shifted behind his headstone, as if putting it between them afforded him extra protection. Ginny approached slowly, her solemn face fixed on the grave. She wore a light jacket and held a collection of wildflowers. Harry froze as she stopped mere inches in front of him and then knelt to lay her flowers before the headstone at his feet. She brushed her hands on her jeans and remained seated on the ground.

A minute stretched by in which Harry hardly dared to breathe. He clenched the opening of his cloak closed as it rippled in the night breeze, its ends fluttering around the sides of the headstone within Ginny's reach. She sat motionless under a sea of stars and a night sky painted purple by the full moon.

When her voice broke the silence, Harry's tightly wound nerves nearly made him cry out in alarm.

"Hello, Harry."

He felt a thrill of fear and longing at hearing his name leave her lips.

"I'm sorry that it's been so long since I last came by to chat; things have been, well . . ." Ginny gave a halfhearted chuckle and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She took a deep breath.

"Happy late birthday."

Contrary to her words, Ginny suddenly appeared despondent. She cast her eyes aimlessly about the ground around her, wiped her cheek, and then spent several minutes plucking weeds from the base of the headstone. When she eventually spoke again, her voice held no emotion.

"Hermione came back. I don't know that I'll ever be able to fully forgive her for what she did to Ron by leaving, but, well . . . I suppose that I did miss her, and I know how much she meant to you. And in spite of everything going on in the world, I've never seen Ron so happy. They finally got together, can you believe it?"

"And Ron killed the snake!" Ginny's face came alive again, as if she only just remembered the exciting news. "All of the Horcruxes are finally gone, and as soon as Bill and the others come up with a plan, we'll finish Voldemort for good and . . . and you can rest in peace." Her enthusiasm melted away and she reached out a finger to trace the inscription on the stone.

"I . . . I saw mum crying last night. She was talking to dad in their room as I walked past, and the door was cracked open. She's worried about me. Well, she has been for a while now, but I guess things have been a bit harder lately." Ginny sighed.

"I just get so angry sometimes – at the Death Eaters, my family, myself . . . and once in a while . . . at you. It's just . . . at times I feel so alone and it can be very hard not to . . . not to hate you for leaving me behind. I know that you didn't want any of this, but still . . ."

When Ginny could not find the right words to go on, she leaned forward to rest her forehead against the gravestone. Harry listened to the soft rhythm of her breathing for several silent minutes, and then she sniffled.

"You know . . . after my very first kiss, with Michael . . . I cried myself to sleep that night because he wasn't you."

At the pain in her words, Harry had to place a hand upon the top of the headstone for support. This was wrong; he should not eavesdrop as Ginny revealed such private thoughts and feelings. And yet, she meant – in a way – for him to hear. And if he tried to move past her and she somehow sensed him . . .

More than any other consideration however, Harry's overpowering need to be near her kept him rooted to the spot.

Ginny sniffled again and gave a small laugh.

"I was already crazy about you when you saved me in the Chamber, and after that . . . well, I had seen it all so clearly in my head: you would suddenly realize that we were meant to be together, you'd sweep me off my feet, and we would live happily ever after. I know it's a bit sappy, but I was only eleven. You were so kind and brave, and you never talked down to me like my brothers. Of course, you hardly talked to me at all, but still – we just _fit_ . . . you were just too big of a git to see it."

Ginny sat up straight and pushed her dangling hair out of her face.

"If I'm honest, though, I can't blame you. _I_ didn't even like myself very much when I was around you. Afraid to speak, falling over when you so much as looked at me – those weren't my best moments. So I worked on just being myself, and I took Hermione's advice and dated other boys. I told myself that I was too young to know what I really wanted, anyway. And maybe I was, but my feelings didn't change."

"What were normal boys compared to 'The Boy Who Lived?' The boy who had saved my life, who I admired _so_ much for how selfless he was; how deeply he cared for his friends; how he had become such an amazing person despite everything that had happened to him."

Harry did not feel that he deserved her praise, but he basked in it. Slowly, carefully – as if drawn to be as close to Ginny as possible – he quietly lowered himself behind the headstone to sit at her level.

"And then," Ginny continued, "after a while, my plan seemed to be working. I learned to calm down around you and we grew a bit closer. I convinced myself that it would only be a matter of time before you finally noticed me like I wanted you to . . . and then you went and fell for Cho Chang." Ginny said the name with a bitter resentment that seemed not to have lessened over time.

"I felt insignificant, invisible. I really tried to hate you for that, but . . . I was helpless and liked you as much as always. But I finally made a real effort to move on. Michael had only ever been temporary, but I was serious about Dean. He was nice and fun to be around, and we had a good bit in common . . . but he still wasn't you."

"And when you caught us kissing – God, I was mortified. Honestly, I could've taken Ron's badgering if you hadn't been there. I felt ashamed, as if I'd been caught cheating on you, and I was so very angry at myself for being stupid and feeling that way."

Ginny's voice had risen, and she paused to take a calming breath.

"It was never the same with Dean after that. I just kept picturing the look on your face when you found us . . ."

"Well, at least I learned something from my time with Michael and Dean: I truly did care about you. My feelings hadn't just been a schoolgirl crush; I spent years putting them to the test, trying to drive them away, and they only grew stronger. And when you finally kissed me . . ."

Ginny stilled at the memory, and a smile lit her face.

"God . . . you . . ."

Words again failed her, and she wiped at a single joyous tear. Ginny sat in silence for several minutes, her face glowing as she lost herself in the memory. Finally, she sighed and her smile became wistful.

"Why did we waste those weeks before Bill's wedding? What good came from our being apart?"

Ginny slumped forward to once again touch her forehead to the headstone, and Harry mirrored her movement against its other side.

"You know what I wish?" Ginny whispered. "That when Ron barged in on us kissing on your birthday, I'd slammed the door in his stupid face and kept at it. You left so soon after that . . . and I only saw you once more at Hogwarts before . . ."

Harry closed his eyes and remembered the swooping sensation he had experienced when Ginny crawled through the portrait hole into the Room of Requirement; how he had felt when – wearing the Invisibility Cloak – he passed by her on his way to meet Voldemort in the forbidden forest.

"I wonder what would have happened if I'd refused to break up with you? Could I have forced you to take me along? Would things have turned out differently? Would you still have . . ."

Harry placed a hand upon his side of the cold stone just as Ginny pulled away.

"I feel like I've spent most of my life waiting for you, Harry. Waiting for you to notice me; waiting for you to care; waiting for you to come back from doing whatever you needed to do. And I think . . . I think that I'm _still_ waiting. I've been afraid to stop, as if I would lose the last little piece of you I have left." As she said this, Ginny raised a trembling hand to cover her heart.

"But you're never coming back . . . and I can't stay frozen forever."

Harry heard Ginny shift in her spot, clear her throat, and take a couple of shaky breaths in an apparent attempt to steady herself. Still, when she spoke, her voice cracked on his name.

"H-Harry, I came out her tonight to tell you that I'm . . . I'm moving on."

There was a pause and Harry felt a hole open in his chest; despite the circumstances, he felt strangely wounded by her words.

"I still don't feel ready, and I don't know how . . . but I have to, for mum and dad. I'm ashamed of what I've put them through this past year, especially after Fred, and with everything else they've got to worry about. I . . . well . . ."

Ginny reached inside her jacket pocket and pulled something out. Harry rose above the headstone, wiped at his watery eyes, and – with a shock – saw that she held his missing glasses. She placed them carefully upon the ground and then began to dig into the earth with her fingers. After she had shaped a small hole, Ginny retrieved the glasses. With a last, long look into their empty lenses, she put them into the hole and pushed the loose dirt back over them. As she worked, she gave several stuttering sobs.

When the ground was once again smooth and featureless, Ginny curled forward until her face pressed into her knees. Her head was obscured by her hair, which fanned out across the ground. Her back shuddered as she began to weep in earnest.

As he listened to her cry, Harry slid back to the ground in anguish with his back against the headstone. Each whimper stripped something away from him, and his suffering went on and on as Ginny let her bottled emotions bleed out.

Finally, far past the point that Harry thought he could endure, he heard her sobs slow and become quiet; heard her hiccupping breath steady. With his eyes clenched shut, Harry sat numbly in the silence until he heard Ginny rise to her feet. In his mind, he was pleading for her to go so that he could suffer alone, as she had been forced to. But before she walked away, Ginny spoke to him one last time, in a weak, deadened voice.

"I'll never forget you."

"I'll always love you."

"Goodbye, Harry."

* * * * * * *

Hours passed until dawn began to break over the horizon, and Harry had not moved an inch. His wooden face betrayed no emotion save for the tears he had not bothered to wipe.

She had loved him.

She loved him still.

Harry had grown up never knowing the word, and to hear it now, from her . . .

A part of him soared; the rest of him wished that he were already dead.

Harry had gotten what he wanted – not for himself, but for Ginny: she was moving on. She had resolved to leave him behind and forge a way forward. But Harry hadn't counted on the cost. She was something less than before; she was broken.

Ginny was the best part of his life and he had hurt her so many times, and for so long. As he lay crumpled against the headstone, Harry re-examined every choice he had made that harmed her. If he could go back and do things differently, certainly he would have asked her to be with him sooner. But he still would not have endangered Ginny by taking her with him to hunt Horcruxes, and he still would have had to die to destroy a part of Voldemort's soul. It seemed that Harry was always destined to break her heart.

Hermione had been right all along – and Harry's mother, as well. Both had told him Ginny was hurting, that she was in more pain than she was letting on. Worst of all, Harry had known deep down that there was truth to what they were saying, had known it since he first laid eyes upon Ginny when he returned to the Burrow. But he was too weak to help her, too afraid that he couldn't go through with his sacrifice if he got close to her again. Harry despised himself for being weak, for doing nothing for her. At that moment, he hated himself more than he hated Voldemort or anyone else.

As he watched the sunrise, Harry swore an oath.

None of his wishes, fears, or weaknesses mattered anymore; he was as good as dead, anyway. As his final act, he would do right by Ginny; he would give whatever he had left to ensure that she had the best possible chance at happiness. But what would that mean?

If he returned to her, could he lessen her pain with a better parting, one that could be done on their terms to set her on a healthier course to recovery? Or, now that Ginny had at long last committed to working past him, would she be better off left alone?

Harry was certain of one thing: after wavering in and out of her life as it suited him, he owed her a decision.

By breakfast, he would either tell Ginny everything . . . or leave forever.

* * *

Next:

Breakfast.

Coming soon, the tenth chapter in _The World I Leave Behind_, "Love, Lies, and Loss."


	11. Chapter Ten: Love, Lies, and Loss

"RONALD WEASLEY!"

Ron awoke instantly at his mother's booming voice and fell out of bed during a dazed scramble to retrieve his wand from the nightstand.

"W-what . . . _mum_? What is it? What's goin' on?"

"'_What's going on_?'" snapped Mrs. Weasley. "I'll _tell_ you what's going on. I come up here to put away your laundry and find you asleep in this . . . this _pigsty_ when you're supposed to be busy in the yard! Didn't I ask you to take on George's chores this morning while he helps Charlie at Shell Cottage? And haven't I told you a _million times_ to clean up this room?"

"I like my room like it is," said Ron, with a faint tone of defiance. He rose to his feet and stood bare-chested in his pajama bottoms. "Nobody else comes up here except for George, and he doesn't mind!"

"_Well_," huffed Mrs. Weasley. "You two may be fine with sleeping in filth, but I can't stand to set foot in here."

"Don't come up here, then," Ron grumbled.

There was a tense pause in which Ron's hastily spoken words of dissent seemed to echo through the silence.

"Fine," Mrs. Weasley said coldly. "Fine! Have it your way, then. Live like a pig, what do I care? But _I_ don't have to stomach it; you can carry your own laundry up all those steps from now on!"

"Hey!" yelled Ron, as Mrs. Weasley dumped the contents of her laundry basket onto the bed beside him. She then stormed back across the room to the doorway.

"And if I don't see you downstairs, ready to do your chores, in _ten minutes_ –"

"I'll be there, okay?" Ron's tone was pleading now. "I didn't mean to sleep in. Just let me get dressed and cleaned up a bit, all right?"

After another brief pause, the door slammed shut and Mrs. Weasley could be heard stomping down the stairs.

Ron sat on the bed next to his mound of laundry and fell back onto his pillow.

"That," he said with a long, shaky sigh, "was _way_ too close."

"I nearly had a heart attack," whispered Hermione, whose head and naked shoulders emerged through the pile of Ron's clothes.

**The World I Leave Behin****d**  
Chapter Ten: Love, Lies, and Loss

"Sorry, 'Mione," chuckled Ron.

"This isn't funny," said Hermione. Her heart was racing as if she had just run a mile. "If I hadn't woken up the moment your mum opened the door . . . if she'd found me hiding under the sheets . . ."

Ron sat up and began to slide a soothing hand up and down her exposed back.

"It's all right, Hermione. We got a bit of a scare, that's all." Ron wasn't laughing any more; his voice was calm and comforting, and he leaned in to trail little kisses from her shoulder to the back of her neck. Hermione barely noticed.

"I can't _believe_ that I forgot to set an alarm. We were so careless . . . Oh! What if she goes to Ginny's room and finds that I'm not there? What if she already knows?" Hermione gasped and, if possible, became even more anxious.

"Hermione," Ron mumbled against her neck, "it's okay; calm down."

Hermione abruptly swung her legs out from under the covers and stood, scattering Ron's laundry as she did so. Like Ron, she wore pajama bottoms but nothing else. Glancing at the window, she noticed that the sun was much higher in the sky than it should be; they had almost certainly missed breakfast.

A second wave of panic gripped Hermione as the events of the previous night came back to her: Harry had not met her in his tent as they arranged. She had left him alone for the day so that he could consider his next course of action from within the solitude of the Invisibility Cloak, with the hope that he would at long last agree to tell Ron and Ginny what only she knew, that Harry Potter was still alive.

It was likely that Harry had remained hidden in the cloak when Hermione went to find him. She had been desperate to hear his decision, but knew that if she pressed him, she was unlikely to get the answer she wanted. With great restraint, she had given him the night to continue thinking things over.

But now a horrible thought popped into her head: would Harry – in a spontaneous moment of stupid, twisted nobility – have left the Burrow during the night without saying a word? Left them all behind to face Voldemort so that he could . . .

Hermione was suddenly overcome with a desperate need to find him.

"Where is my shirt?" she said, distractedly. She began to hurry about the room, picking through the mess.

"Uh," muttered Ron. "By the foot of the bed, I think." As Hermione followed his directions, Ron rose from the bed and slowly walked over to her.

"You, um, seem really upset," he said, standing beside her as she knelt to search the floor. "Is this just about mum, or . . . is there something else?"

Even in her panicked state, Hermione registered a strange tone in Ron's voice. She straightened up to look at him and was stricken by something curious in his startlingly blue eyes.

"What?" Hermione whispered.

"It's just that . . . last night was the best night of my life and, well . . . it doesn't really boost a bloke's ego when the girl looks like she can't wait to go, y'know?" Ron gave a weak laugh and nervously ruffled his hair. His eyes flittered from hers to the floor, and Hermione suddenly realized how fragile he was in that moment.

"Oh, Ron – it's not that . . . I mean, last night was wonderful." Hermione smiled as the warm feelings, tender words, and passionate embraces came flooding back, temporarily halting her drive to leave.

Worried when Harry missed their late-night meeting, Hermione had sought out Ron for comfort. With George, Ron's roommate, out of the house, she and Ron stayed up into the early hours of the morning, first talking and then touching. Their rare private time together had led to amazing new physical discoveries, although they stopped short of giving themselves to each other fully. Ron was more than willing and Hermione had nearly been overcome by the sensations they shared, but she didn't want their first time to be tainted by her concern for her missing friend.

Hermione looked at Ron and saw him in a new light. They had taken a step forward and she felt closer and more in love with him than ever before. The worry on his face softened as she beamed at him, and she reached out to put her arms around him.

"Last night meant the world to me, Ron," she said, remembering that he often needed extra assurance. "I wish that we could stay in bed forever, I really do."

Ron tightened their embrace and placed feather-light kisses along her jaw, causing a soft moan to slip from Hermione's lips.

"You don't know what you do to me, Hermione," he whispered huskily into her ear.

Hermione immediately became aware of two things: first, in her panic and haste to find her shirt so that she could leave, she ironically hadn't given a thought to the fact that she was shirtless. This was now impossible to ignore as her chest was squeezed tightly against Ron's. And second, she could feel Ron's reaction to the contact pressed firmly against her hip.

"Um," Hermione began, feeling as if her whole body must be blushing. "I think I know _exactly_ what I've done to you, actually."

They both laughed awkwardly and broke apart, and Hermione quickly wrapped her arms over her chest.

"Ron," she said, smiling but unable to meet his eyes. "I really need my shirt."

"Oh, well," he said, and effortlessly plucked it from underneath the tee shirt that he had discarded during the night. "If you must."

Hermione took it from him and was vividly aware of his stare as she raised her arms to pull the shirt over her head. Once she was covered, Ron gave a heavy sigh.

"Ron, I'm beginning to think you have a one-track mind." Hermione chided him in a teasing tone, but she was secretly pleased. Growing up with bushy hair and big front teeth had left her a little insecure about her looks, and it was a relief to know that he desired her that way.

Ron gave a shrug and a wicked grin.

"Well, it's your own fault for being so bloody beautiful. And with George coming back tonight, who knows when I'll get another look?"

Hermione gave his chest a playful slap and then found herself momentarily distracted by his toned torso. Stepping to him again, she slid both hands up his chest, locked them behind his neck, and stood on her toes to place her mouth on his. Ron responded with a newfound boldness, using his hands to search out the many curves he had explored during their night together. Hermione began to feel the same stirrings that had almost overruled her better judgment before, so she broke away and collected his hands in hers.

"I really should go," she said, although neither of them was happy at the prospect. "It's a miracle that your parents even let me back into this house after how I left . . ." Hermione felt the familiar pangs of guilt that always accompanied thoughts of the way she had abandoned Ron, his family, and the magical world. She smiled ruefully and looked down at her feet. "What would they think of me if they knew I'd spent the night with you?"

"Who cares what they think?" said Ron, who sounded rebellious. "We're nineteen, Hermione; we've been of age for two years. Nobody can tell us what we can or can't do; that's between you and me."

Hermione wasn't sure what was causing it, but Ron grew more agitated as he spoke.

"It's bad enough that I have to live crammed up in this damned house with everyone looking over my shoulder all the time." Ron gave a dark laugh. "Maybe when we're married, mum will finally back off and give me a little space."

Ron continued to rail against the injustice of their situation, but Hermione no longer heard him. She stared at him, wide-eyed, until he finally seemed to notice her expression.

"What?" said Ron, and he immediately deflated under her intense stare. "Look, I know that mum and dad mean well, and under the circumstances, I guess I shouldn't complain –"

"Say . . . say that part again, about when your mum might give you some space."

"Huh? What do you . . . oh." Ron's face went as white as a sheet; it was as if he just realized what he had been saying. "That. Listen, I . . ."

"Did you mean it?" Hermione asked timidly. Her throat was suddenly very dry. "Do you really want to . . . to get m–"

"No," Ron said, cutting her off. "I mean, yes! Wait, I mean . . ." Ron paused and seemed to steel himself before he went on. With apparent difficulty, he placed his hands on Hermione's shoulders and looked her straight in the eye.

"What I mean is . . . I see Bill and Fleur so happy together, and I want that . . . someday. And, yeah, I guess that sometimes I see us that way. I hope that doesn't . . . I dunno, scare you, or something. I love you, Hermione. You're everything to me." Hermione kept quiet, staring blankly back at him. "You, uh, could jump in and say something any time . . . hopefully before I run into the closet."

Hermione laughed and her watery eyes sparkled. Stretching up to reach his lips once again, she gave Ron a brief but very tender kiss before taking his jaw in her hands and staring into his eyes.

"I feel exactly the same way," she said, and Ron matched her smile. "I love you so much, Ron." They shared one last, long kiss, and then Hermione tore herself from him and walked to the door.

"God, I could get used to waking up like this every morning," said Ron, which caused Hermione to raise her eyebrows. "Well," Ron clarified, "minus the screaming mother, of course – you know what I mean."

"Me, too," she whispered. It was becoming very hard to leave, so Hermione forced herself to turn the doorknob while she could still muster the willpower. "See you downstairs?"

"Yeah. I'm just going to take a quick shower – a very, very cold one.

Hermione glanced at his pajama bottoms and giggled. "That's probably a good idea."

After pausing for a moment to listen at the door, Hermione gave Ron one last glowing smile and quietly snuck down the stairs to Ginny's room, which was empty. She quickly threw off her pajamas, pulled on a pair of white shorts and, thinking of Ron, chose a deep blue top.

As she hurried, her mind was a jumble of thoughts and emotions. She had slept in Ron's arms and he had practically proposed to her. Hermione's heart was so full that it felt like it would burst, and on any other day she would be jumping, squealing, and running to Ginny to share the amazing news – well, a censored version of it, anyway.

But outside the warm glow of Ron's room, Hermione's thoughts were pulled back to her concern for Harry. After hastily flattening her bushy hair to make it look less like Ron had spent the night running his hands through it, she returned to the stairs and took them two at a time on her way to Harry's tent in the backyard.

Before she could reach the back door, however, Hermione stopped short upon finding Harry seated at the kitchen table. The room's only other occupant was Ginny, who stopped washing dishes for a moment to flash Hermione an unreadable look.

Harry – disguised as "James Foster," of course – sat fidgeting with an empty glass on the table. He glanced up at Hermione as she pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. His face betrayed no emotion whatsoever.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. What had she unknowingly walked into? Had he already told Ginny the truth?

"Good morning, James . . . Ginny," said Hermione, tentatively.

Harry took a deep breath before responding.

"You missed breakfast," he said, in a way that held no sincere interest or curiosity.

"No, I . . . overslept."

Hermione was so caught up in Harry's indecipherable mood that she nearly jumped when Ginny sat a full glass of juice on the table in front of her. As Ginny pulled away, she whispered in Hermione's ear.

"_I know_."

Hermione's eyes flew wide as Ginny returned to the sink. Harry was staring at his empty glass, which he was absentmindedly spinning on the table with his fingers. The tension was driving Hermione crazy. She pushed back from the table and hesitantly approached the sink to stand shoulder to shoulder with Ginny.

"You _know_?" Hermione whispered.

Still washing a plate under a steady stream of water, Ginny turned her head to give Hermione a strange look; it was scolding, but the corners of her lips still curled up.

"You didn't honestly think I wouldn't figure it out? We share the same room, Hermione. It isn't hard to guess which bed you slept in if you weren't in your own."

"Oh," said Hermione, stunned with both relief and disappointment. Ginny still did not know about Harry. Hermione shot him an annoyed look over her shoulder before refocusing on the matter at hand.

"It isn't what you think, Ginny," she whispered. "We didn't do anything, we . . . Well, I suppose that isn't entirely true . . ."

"Ugh," said Ginny with a grimace. "Please don't say any more about what you did or did not do with my brother. I don't need those images in my head."

Hermione gave a nervous laugh. Ginny had initially been opposed to her getting back together with Ron, and Hermione could not blame her. It would be easy to understand why she might not support them furthering their relationship.

"Are . . . you okay with this?"

Ginny shrugged.

"I'd already decided to believe in you, Hermione. I trust you to do right by him."

"Thank you," whispered Hermione, and she threw her arms around Ginny, who gave a warm smile.

Ginny turned off the faucet, wiped her hands on a towel, and put an arm around Hermione to squeeze her back.

"Don't mind me, Hermione; you know what a grump I am in the mornings. I'm honestly very happy for you two; I'm glad that you've found each other again."

Hermione caught a glimpse of Harry over Ginny's shoulder and felt her insides squirm with guilt.

Without knowing it, Ginny was standing just ten feet from the one person in the world who could give her the kind of happiness that Hermione shared with Ron, a fact that Hermione kept hidden from her. Of all the sins that Hermione struggled to atone for, her compliance in keeping Harry's secret was perhaps the worst.

"Thank you, Ginny. That means a lot to me." Hermione left Ginny to finish washing up and retook her seat across from Harry, who leaned toward her immediately.

"What was with all the whispers?"

"I wasn't revealing any big secrets, if that's what you're worried about," Hermione said coolly.

Harry looked at Ginny's back, then returned his eyes to Hermione and sat staring at her for several moments.

"Can I talk to you outside?" he whispered.

Hermione nodded, and they rose together.

"See you in a bit, Ginny," called Hermione.

"Sure. Hey, there aren't any leftovers from breakfast, but let me know if you get hungry and I can whip something up for you."

"Thanks, but I'll be fine," replied Hermione as she hastened to catch up to Harry, who had already exited the room in a rush. He was halfway across the yard by the time Hermione reached the back door, and she had to jog to keep pace with him as he climbed the hill and strode past the orchard. Finally, when Harry entered a group of trees at the far end of the Burrow's protective boundary, he stopped and waited for her to catch up.

He leaned against a tree with his hands in his pockets and no longer appeared to be in a hurry. He waited patiently for Hermione to catch her breath before he spoke.

"Hermione . . . do you believe in fate?"

She simply stared at him in confusion until he continued.

"I don't know if I do, but I can't deny that my life has been rolled up in prophecies, chance, and a lot of luck, both good and bad. Who's to say that there isn't some kind of . . . 'divine hand' behind it all?"

Hermione did not understand what he was getting at, but she didn't like the feeling that was building in the pit of her stomach.

"What are you talking about, Harry? What's brought this on?"

"Last night I was standing by my headstone in the Invisibility Cloak, wondering what I should do, and . . . out of the blue, Ginny walked up and gave me the answer. She came to tell me – tell the grave – that she was finally ready to move on. She's putting me behind her, Hermione. She . . . doesn't need me anymore."

Hermione's confusion turned into anger in an instant. More than his words, it was Harry's calm face and steady voice that alarmed her – he was at peace with his decision. His mind was made up.

"This is wrong, Harry. _You're_ wrong. You . . ." Hermione was so upset that she found herself temporarily unable to speak. Shaking her head frantically, she grasped at her only remaining hope.

"You know what? It doesn't matter. Say what you want, Harry, but you'll give in. I've seen it in your eyes when you watch her; every day that you spend here, you come closer to telling her."

Harry did not respond, but looked away ashamedly. Hermione's smug smile faded away.

"You . . . you're leaving, aren't you?"

Harry took a deep breath.

"Yes. Today. Now. I would have left earlier this morning, but . . . I wanted to say goodbye."

Hermione's eyes began to well up with angry tears.

"So this is it, then? This is my farewell? I suppose I should count myself lucky; at least I _get_ a goodbye."

Harry's calm mask slipped and Hermione could tell that her words had hurt him.

"Hermione, try to understand," he pleaded. "I'm not doing any good here. I've got enough to go on with Voldemort; being at the Burrow just makes things harder."

"You're so selfish," spat Hermione, and while she hated herself for saying it, she was desperate to provoke any kind of response that might somehow weaken Harry's determination to leave. "Have you even _once_ thought about Ginny? Or Ron? I mean _really_ thought about what's best for them, and not just for yourself?"

Harry reeled back at the words; they had clearly stung. He looked as if he had been slapped across the face.

"How can you – this has _everything_ to do with what's best for them!" Harry was becoming angry now. "And how can you say those things to me after what _you_ did? You weren't the one locked in a dungeon for a year, Hermione. What were you doing to help Ginny and Ron then?"

Harry had never before judged Hermione's past actions, and it was a sign of his distress that he brought them up now. Hermione gladly took the shame and pain that his words caused however, because it gave her the opening she needed.

"You're right, Harry. I made this same mistake a year ago. I left for no good reason, without saying goodbye, and it's the biggest regret of my life. I –"

"This isn't the same," said Harry, cutting across her. Now that his defense had backfired, he appeared eager to drop the subject. "Look, Hermione, I don't want to fight. Please, I . . . I just don't have it in me right now. I know everything you're going to say; you've said it all a dozen times before. And I know now that you were right. You've been right all along. Ginny was hurting, and I . . ." Harry struggled for a moment, closed his eyes in concentration, and his emotionless mask was back in place.

"The situation has changed, Hermione. Ginny is going to get better now. And if I butt in and interrupt that process, I'll only make it harder for her."

"Harry, you –"

"Please, Hermione. _Please_. I know that you only want what's best for me and Ron and Ginny – and I love you for that – but I have to do this. It's not what I want, but it's for the best. I know you don't agree, and I know that I'm asking a lot. It kills me to have to ask you to do this – to lie – but please respect my decision."

Hermione stood, arms crossed, staring daggers at him as her hot tears began to boil over. Ever since she conspired with Harry to hide his true identity, she had assuaged her guilt by convincing herself that she would, eventually, be able to let the others in on the secret. Now Harry was asking her to continue the lie for the rest of her life.

Hermione cleared her throat and barely kept her fury and panic in check enough to speak.

"And what about Ron?"

Harry's shoulders slumped.

"Ron has you, Hermione; you're all he needs."

Hermione could not look at Harry anymore. Her world was crumbling; she was once again betraying the people she loved. She had just gotten Harry back and now she was losing him again, this time forever.

"I can't keep lying to Ron and Ginny, Harry. Not after how I treated them in the past."

Harry rubbed his face with his hands and sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree. They remained in a tortured silence for several minutes; Harry was apparently at a loss for what to say next and Hermione was unwilling to relent and give him his final victory.

"Hermione . . . if Ron needed help and you thought you knew how best to help him –"

"Harry, you're _wrong_!"

"I believe that I'm right. And if you believed with all your heart that you knew what Ron needed, wouldn't you do anything to give it to him, no matter how much it might hurt?"

"I would. That's what I'm doing now. He doesn't get a say in this, so I'm fighting for him, and for Ginny. And for you, Harry. I wouldn't be your friend if I let you do this."

Harry gave a sad smile and placed his face in his hands again.

"I love you, Hermione. You're the sister I never had." His voice was thick with emotion, but he kept his face hidden. "You know I wouldn't ask you for this if there were any other way. I'm begging you. I want Ginny to move on. I don't want her to waste any more time on me. I want to . . . I want to die knowing that I'm helping to shape a world where she can be happy. I want her to find someone, someday . . . who doesn't always make her want to cry."

Harry sniffled into his hands and Hermione wiped angrily at her wet cheeks.

"Hermione, please. I know I'm asking too much . . . but it's my final request."

Hermione slumped to her knees in defeat; he had finally dared to ask in the one way she could never refuse. At that moment, she both loved and hated him; she wanted to scream and cry, to continue to rage against something, anything. To find a fight she could win.

"Damn you, Harry."

"I know."

Hermione felt sick. Was she really going to let this happen? Could she keep the truth from Ron after what they had just shared? Or from Ginny, who had confided to Hermione how much one more week with Harry would have meant to her? Could Hermione simply watch Harry leave, knowing that he would likely be dead within days?

"Where do you plan to go?" she said, feeling nauseas as she spoke.

Harry lowered his hands and looked at her with red-rimmed eyes.

"I'll Disapparate to Privet Drive, and then . . . I don't know. I can't really think about that right now; I'll figure it out once I'm out of here."

"Your Aunt's house isn't properly protected, Harry. It would be stupid to go there."

"I'll be all right."

Hermione gave a deep sigh and pressed her fingers to her temple.

"I'll take you to my house; we can use the Order's secure Floo Network. We have room there, and you can stay as long as you need to."

"Hermione . . . I don't –"

"Those are my terms, Harry. If I'm . . . if I'm really going to help you do this, I won't allow you to leave here unprotected. My house has nearly as many protective enchantments as the Burrow, including a Fidelius charm."

Harry stared at her for several moments, then nodded.

"Okay," said Hermione, rising to her feet. Her stomach lurched and she braced herself against a tree and took a deep breath. "I suppose we have to think of some excuse to tell the others . . . and then we can leave after dinner."

"No," said Harry, who also stood. "No, we have to leave now. _Right_ now."

"Harry . . ." But Hermione could tell that any further argument would be fruitless; she could see it in his eyes. Her stomach rolled again and she swallowed thickly.

"Just . . . give me enough time to explain things to Ron, all right?"

"Yeah . . . all right. Of course."

They began to walk back to the Burrow, and Harry caught her in his arms just before they left the cover of the trees.

"I'll never forget what you've done for me," he said, squeezing her tightly. "I don't deserve you."

"Harry," she said, fighting back more tears. "You deserve so much more."

* * * * * * *

Hermione found Ron de-gnoming the garden again, and he accepted her story that James had decided to return to his family home where he would brew potions and take on other tasks for the Order. According to the backstory that Hermione had helped create for James, he lived in her neighborhood, so he would floo to her house and finish his short trip home from there. She would accompany him and visit with her parents for a few hours. Hermione hated herself more with every lie, and she could not bear to look Ron in the eye as she told them.

In truth, Hermione would spend the afternoon explaining the situation to her parents and helping Harry settle in. She planned to visit him there every day, aid him however she could, and spend as much time with him as possible before he must eventually face Voldemort. For a moment she had considered staying there with him, but she quickly decided that she could not leave Ron behind. She would, at the very least, spend her nights at the Burrow, and would never give Ron any reason to think she was leaving him again.

In the short time it took for Harry to collect his meager possessions and rejoin Hermione, Ron quickly spread the news of James's impending departure. A crowd of people met Harry and Hermione at the fireplace, and Harry was forced to decline repeated requests to stay. Although he had mostly kept to himself since arriving at the Burrow, James Foster had made an impression with his impassioned Unbreakable Vow, his spectacular Quidditch abilities, and his inexplicably potent Patronus charm.

Mrs. Weasley lamented the fact that she could no longer watch over him, but trusted that he had some sort of family to take care of him, despite the fact that Harry had previously said that James's parents – like his own – were dead. And although nobody spoke of it, there was evident concern in their voices for a man they believed to have some kind of terminal illness. Harry had been somewhat truthful, at least, in revealing that he did not have long to live.

Despite the fact that Hermione strongly disagreed with Harry's chosen course, her heart went out to him as he shook hands, said goodbyes, and tried to pretend that he was merely leaving behind recent acquaintances and not the people he loved most in the world. He said little and his face gave away nothing, but Hermione knew that he would have desperately hoped to avoid such a scene.

Harry kept his attention away from Ron and Ginny until he could no longer do so without being obvious. Turning to face Ron at last, Harry appeared to be at a loss for words. Before the scene could become too awkward, however, Ron took the initiative and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Sorry to see you go, mate."

"Yeah . . . me, too, Ron."

Harry clapped Ron's shoulder, and Hermione had to look away.

"Take care, will you?" said Harry. "And take care of Hermione, too. She's a special girl."

"You don't have to tell me that," said Ron, smiling. He put an arm around Hermione, who still could not meet either of their gazes.

Harry sighed, and after a short pause, he turned to Ginny with what Hermione knew must be an enormous effort. Hermione watched them intently. Ginny was smiling politely, as was Harry, but his expression was off somehow, forced and frozen.

"I wish you didn't have to go," said Ginny. "I was hoping that we could have another Quidditch match. I can't remember the last time I had so much fun."

Harry stood stock-still with his eyes locked onto Ginny. It was hard for Hermione to look at him when she knew how much pain he must be in, but she couldn't tear her eyes away. This was it – the last, best chance that Harry would be unable to go through with his plan. Leaving Ginny before had been the hardest thing he had ever done, and Hermione desperately hoped that he would find it impossible to part with her again.

"You'll come back to visit, won't you?" asked Ginny when Harry failed to give any kind of response.

Finally, Harry took a breath.

"No . . . I won't be coming back."

And then he held out his hand. Ginny looked a little disappointed as she shook it.

"Keep flying," said Harry. "You're brilliant at it, and it's easy to see that it makes you happy."

"You, too, James. Listen, don't . . . don't let your condition keep you from enjoying life as much as you can, all right? And don't forget that you have friends here if you need them."

Harry gave a single, soft laugh and his smile became genuine. He had stopped shaking Ginny's hand, but held onto it. He gave her an intense stare, then stepped forward and embraced her. Hermione stopped breathing. It was a brief and friendly hug – nothing too out of the ordinary – although Ginny was clearly caught by surprise.

Only Hermione was positioned to see Harry's face atop Ginny's shoulder; his expression was so tortured that it looked as if he were in physical pain. Hermione's heart broke for him.

"Goodbye, Ginny."

Harry quickly released her and took his position before the fireplace without a look back. Throwing a fistful of floo powder into the fire, he entered the grate and spoke the address that Hermione had given him. With a burst of green flame, he was gone.

With no attempt at faking a smile, Hermione followed.

* * * * * * *

They emerged from a fireplace in a large study that contained a mahogany desk, a couple of plush armchairs, and rows of bookshelves that stretched across nearly every wall. Behind the desk, a tawny owl observed them from inside its cage, which rested on a small table by a window.

"Mum? Dad?" called Hermione. "They must be downstairs." She walked toward the door but stopped when she noticed that Harry wasn't following her. He remained standing by the fireplace, hunched over with his hands on his knees.

"Harry?"

"I . . . I need a minute."

He appeared ready to collapse.

"Oh, Harry . . . here," Hermione took his arm and steered him to a nearby chair, which he fell into. His skin was pale and waxy; he looked as though he might be sick. Leaving the Burrow seemed to have taken all he had.

Harry groaned and bent over in his seat, locking his fingers behind his head.

"What can I do?" asked Hermione, her voice becoming a bit frantic. The morning's traumatic events had pushed her too far and she felt close to her breaking point. For a moment Hermione considered holding him, but was somewhat ashamed to find that she was too distraught to offer any comfort. She felt so many powerful conflicting emotions that she thought she might explode.

"I'll . . . get you some water. Wait right here, Harry."

But before Hermione could leave the room, her parents walked through the door.

"Hermione!" called her mother. She was a thin and neat woman who wore a black, button-up sweater, a long white skirt, and a hair band atop her shoulder-length bushy black hair.

"We _thought_ we heard you arrive, sweetheart," said Hermione's father, who moved past his wife to hug his daughter. He bore a warm, crinkled smile and was dressed in a red jumper and tan trousers. His short, faded ginger hair was streaked with grey.

"Hello, dad," said Hermione as her father released her. "Hi, mum."

"We hoped you would stop by soon," said Mrs. Granger. "It feels like it's been forever since we last saw you."

In truth, Hermione had visited a few days prior, but she still felt guilty. Her involvement in a full-blown wizarding war – in which she was allied with Voldemort's most hunted enemies – had put a halt to her parents' normal Muggle lives and placed them in terrible danger. Back when she began the hunt for Horcruxes with Ron and Harry, Hermione had left her parents in a somewhat safer situation by relocating them to Australia under fake identities and memory charms. But when Hermione returned home a year ago, broken by the news that Harry had been killed, she could not resist bringing them back. She despised herself for placing her needs above their safety, and had since tried several times to convince them to go back into hiding. However, upon returning to find their daughter in such a terrible state, Mr. and Mrs. Granger had steadfastly refused to leave again, even though it meant they must remain protected inside their house and rely on the support of the Order of the Phoenix. Hermione's parents had sacrificed everything for her.

And now she was about to ask them to harbor the most wanted man in the world.

Harry had risen to his feet while Hermione said her hellos. He put effort into forcing a polite smile, but wasn't doing a very a good job of it.

"Um . . . mum, dad," said Hermione, turning toward Harry. "This is going to come as a bit of a shock. This is Harry . . . Harry Potter."

Mr. Granger looked politely confused, but Hermione's mother was faster on the uptake.

"But you said that he had . . . I mean . . . this past year –"

"I know," said Hermione, thinking of the many times she had cried and clung to her parents for comfort after finding what she believed to be Harry's body. "He had gone missing and we thought the worst, but he came back."

"Goodness," said Mr. Granger, breathlessly. "Well . . . this is fantastic news!" He gave a surprised laugh and stepped forward to enthusiastically shake Harry's hand.

"My God, Harry; we thought we'd lost you! We were never properly introduced, but Hermione has always talked so much about you that I feel as though I've known you for ages. We did see each other briefly at King's Cross and Diagon Alley, of course . . . I remember you having darker hair . . ."

"Yeah, um . . . Polyjuice Potion," said Harry, not bothering to explain further. "I'm sorry, but I don't feel well. Could I . . .?"

"Hm?" Mr. Granger responded, still shaking Harry's hand. "Oh, yes, of course; you do look a bit off color. Is there anything we can –"

"No, I . . . just need to lie down for a while."

Mrs. Granger was once again a step ahead.

"Hermione, show Harry to the guest bedroom and help him settle in. We were just about to prepare lunch; Harry, we'll have something for you when you feel up to eating." She gave Hermione a questioning look that told her she would soon be expected to explain this miraculous development in much more detail.

Harry forced a final smile but his eyes were already miles away. His composure was crumbling fast, and Hermione had to take his arm to help him into the hallway. He spoke as they stumbled down the stairway to the ground floor, sounding as if he were only partly aware that he was doing so.

"So . . . I guess we're telling them."

"No more lies, Harry," Hermione said resolutely. "Not here. I'll explain things to them; they won't tell anyone."

Harry did not argue. At the moment he seemed incapable of doing much more than taking one shaky step after another.

Just as they entered a small, plain, and untouched bedroom, Harry's potion began to wear off. As his sandy blonde hair shifted to black and the lightning bolt scar reappeared on his forehead, he pulled from his rucksack a pair of round-rimmed glasses. Hermione recognized the spectacles instantly and recalled seeing them on Ginny's nightstand every night before going to bed.

"When did you get –"

"Copies," Harry muttered. "It didn't feel right . . . to take the real ones." Hermione puzzled over his comment as he absentmindedly placed the frames on his face and sat down on the bed, looking dazed.

Hermione watched him from the doorway, not certain if she should leave him alone. After a minute of silence, she began to walk away.

"I really did it, didn't I?" asked Harry in a quiet voice. He was still staring off into space. "I didn't realize how much I had started to rely on the thought of telling her . . . that I was counting on it."

Hermione, once again torn between conflicting emotions and impulses, could settle on nothing to say.

Without another word, Harry lay down on the bed and rolled onto his side to face the wall. It killed Hermione to see him in such anguish, especially when it was within his power to make things better. After watching his still form for a few moments, Hermione left to study her own feelings.

Without consciously deciding to do so, she returned to the upper floor and sought out the sanctuary of her room. She had always found comfort at being surrounded by her neatly organized collections of books and supplies, but after spending so many months there hiding from the world she truly belonged to, the room had also come to feel like a prison. She looked at her bed and remembered the countless nights she had lain awake crying. She saw her cauldron and thought of the limited, cowardly work she had eventually agreed to take on for the Order.

Hermione sat at her desk and placed her head upon it, resting it on her folded arms. She felt the beginnings of the kind of dark and desperate feelings that had once crippled her, and was frightened of what they might foreshadow. No matter how bad things seemed, she could not go back to being what she once was, hollow and paralyzed. Things were different now; she was stronger. She had Ron.

Ron.

With a fresh tide of emotion, Hermione thought of the myriad qualities and sensations that she associated with the man she loved. His smile. His kindness. His unwavering support and forgiveness. His eyes. His smell. His warmth. His touches, both soft and rough.

Tears were pooling on the desk beneath Hermione's face. Ron deserved better from her. He deserved better _than_ her.

She sat up and opened a desk drawer, taking from it a framed photo. There, frozen forever in the Gryffindor common room, was a sixth-year Harry with his arms around Ginny. The couple looked so much happier together than they ever had apart. Next to them, Ron stole a glance at the Hermione in the picture and nervously looked away when she caught him watching. Hermione now saw more in the gesture than she had before; even then, he had liked her in the way she had always wished he would.

Suddenly unable to look at the photo for a second longer, she lowered it back into the drawer and noticed the pile of letters that had been stacked underneath it. They were Ron's. He had continued to send them to her after she abandoned him, but she had never responded. She had never even read them.

Desperate at that moment to feel close to Ron – and thinking that she deserved the hurt his words would surely bring – Hermione took the top envelope and ripped it open. It was the most recent letter. It spoke of nothing extraordinary, but detailed the minute goings on of life at the Burrow: something funny George had said, an argument Ron had with his mother, an opinion on a book he had read, and his concern over Ginny, who remained despondent; no sensitive information that could have jeopardized the Order had his owl been intercepted. What struck Hermione was that Ron had sent it nearly a year after she left, yet he wrote as if nothing had changed between them.

Hermione tore open the next letter in the pile, and then the next, reading them in reverse of the order she had received them. As she worked backward, the letters became more desperate. Ron had tried so many times to elicit a response, to learn what had become of her. He asked over and over how he might help, pleaded for her to see him, and begged her to tell him what he had done wrong.

After the first few weeks of not hearing from Hermione, Ron had stopped holding anything back. He spoke of his love for her, how she made him feel when they were together, and how he wasn't whole while they were apart. He spoke with an eloquence and passion that she never would have dreamed him capable of.

Hermione sobbed as she read, leaving the sheets of parchment blotchy with tear-stained ink. Ron's words magnified her mistakes by a hundred fold, and the tender moments they had spent in bed the previous night seemed a lifetime ago. How could anyone be capable of hurting the one they love so much?

The drawer was now empty. Hermione dropped her head to the desk again and wept over the countless scattered sheets and ripped envelopes that littered the area around her. How could she fix this? How could she hope to atone for the damage she had done? How could she ever again look Ron in the eye after reading his letters, and while keeping secret the fact that she had stolen his last chance to see his best friend again?

Hermione stilled . . . her sobs ceased . . . and she raised her head.

She jerked open another drawer and yanked from within it a new piece of parchment, a quill, and ink. Without pausing to think of what words to write, she hastily began to scrawl a letter.

_Ron, _

_I don't know how to put this, so I will be direct: I have kept something very important from you, and it is long past time for me to tell you the truth. Will you please arrange to meet with me privately when I return tonight? _

_I am so very sorry. I hope that you can forgive me. _

_Love, Hermione_

The letter wasn't strictly necessary; Hermione could simply wait until she arrived at the Burrow and then ask Ron for a word in private. But by sending the note, she would commit herself to taking action at last; once Ron read her message, there would be no backing out.

She folded the parchment, stuffed it into an envelope, and addressed it to Ron. Following her newfound sense of urgency, she sprinted from her room and returned to the study, where she tied the letter to the family owl and sent her away.

As Hermione watched her courier's brown wings soar into the distance, her surge of adrenaline came to an end. For a few fleeting minutes she had gained a clear sense of purpose and felt the satisfaction of finally taking action. Now, it was once again time to wait.

She felt a small measure of regret at betraying Harry, but at that moment her devotion to Ron was so strong that the niggling guilt did nothing to dim the inner glow that came from at last doing what she knew to be the right thing. She only hoped that her actions would not result in her losing all three of the people she was closest to.

Weary as if she had already experienced a full day, Hermione went to find her parents and get something to eat. And then, if she could manage it, convince Harry to eat, too. She considered telling her parents how serious things had gotten with Ron – leaving out the bits that no parent would want to hear, of course. She thought they would be happy to know that she was in a committed relationship. Her mother would probably ask all sorts of new questions about Ron and examine their relationship like a logic puzzle. Her father would likely crack jokes to cover his discomfort at the thought of his daughter dating. They would mean well, however, and Hermione needed to focus on something good, something normal.

She darkly thought, however, that it might be prudent to hold the news until after her meeting with Ron in case, well . . . things changed.

As she approached the kitchen doorway, Hermione could hear the clink of utensils coming from inside the room.

"I'm starv –"

The world seemed to go into slow motion as Hermione lost her breath and her balance. She fell to the floor in shock, landed on her backside, and instinctively began to push herself away from the incomprehensible scene before her.

Seated at the kitchen table, as casually as if he were an old family friend, was Lord Voldemort.

He took no notice of Hermione as he watched her parents, who stood on either side of him. Her father was pouring Voldemort a cup of tea; her mother was buttering him a scone. Neither looked at their daughter; they moved mechanically, totally absorbed in their tasks. Their eyes were glazed over.

Hermione became still and watched the scene in absolute terror. Her mind could not accept what she was seeing; it was like some bizarre, confused nightmare. Voldemort simply could not be there, seated in the chair from which Hermione had eaten her meals since she was little.

Voldemort was given his tea and he took a sip. A slight crease formed between his eyes, and he returned the cup to the table, pushing it away.

"Muggles," he sighed.

Mrs. Granger offered him the scone, but Voldemort airily waved it away.

"Mudblood," he called in his high, clear voice, although he still did not look at Hermione as he addressed her. "Call for our dear friend, Harry, will you?"

Hermione remained paralyzed in fear on the floor.

"Perhaps I did not speak clearly enough," said Voldemort. This time he did look at her, and his red, slit eyes snapped her out of shock.

At the same time, her parents each raised kitchen knives to their own throats.

"Call Harry Potter."

"N-no, don't," stuttered Hermione, holding out her hands as if to stop him. Voldemort continued to stare right through her, and Mr. and Mrs. Granger also turned their lifeless eyes to their daughter. Their knives were pressed firmly against their flesh.

"H-Harry . . .!" Hermione had meant to shout, but it came out a whisper.

"I do not believe he heard you," said Voldemort, matter-of-factly. Blood began to flow from her mother's knife.

"HARRY!"

This time her scream was terrible in its fear and volume.

"Much better."

Voldemort removed his gaze and began to look around the room with amused curiosity. As the moments crawled by, Hermione's mind spun back up and kicked into survival mode. How had he found them? How had Voldemort penetrated the Fidelius charm that Mr. Weasley had placed upon the house?

Hermione heard Harry's footfalls as he ran toward her, but she could not tear her eyes away from her parents, who remained a quick stroke away from death.

"Ah, Harry," said Voldemort, speaking warmly as if he were addressing an old friend. Hermione felt Harry come to a stop beside her in the doorway and, from the corner of her eye, saw his wand rise. Simultaneously, each of her parents began to draw their knives across their necks.

"Harry, NO!" shrieked Hermione, and she seized his wand arm, pulling it down. The knives paused, but an alarming amount of blood was already spilling.

"Muggles," mused Voldemort, "are so much more susceptible to magic than wizards. These two," he gestured lazily to Hermione's parents while keeping his unblinking eyes on Harry, "will do whatever I ask without any hesitation whatsoever. Shall I demonstrate?"

"No," Harry growled.

Hermione felt a desperate need to act, to do _something_, but saw no possible options that would not result in the deaths of her mother and father at the very least.

"But surely you would not hold it against me if I played just a little," Voldemort continued. "You see, I have been without my favorite toy for quite some time . . ."

"What do you want?" Harry demanded.

"What else?"

Voldemort stood and straightened his robes. Beside him, the front of the Grangers' clothes were now soaked with blood. Hermione whimpered.

"Time to go home, Harry. You will be punished, of course, for running away. I will let you live, however . . . for now." Voldemort took a few steps forward and held out his hand expectantly. "Your wand."

Behind Voldemort, Hermione saw her parents' arms slowly lower as if unseen hands were pulling them down. Could Harry be doing this . . .?

"Your _wand_, boy." Voldemort dropped his teasing tone and his nostrils flared.

Hermione tightened the grip on her wand, feeling that this was her last chance to act but still not knowing what to do . . .

Harry tossed his wand toward Voldemort, whose eyes moved to follow its trajectory. In that instant, Harry wandlessly fired a Reductor curse. The Dark Lord somehow managed to erect a shield in time, but the impact of the wide beam of blue light was so great that it still blasted him through the wall, across the front yard, and into the street. Hermione's parents were simultaneously thrown clear, and Harry's wand flew back to his hand before it could hit the floor.

Harry immediately rushed to Mr. Granger and pried away the man's knife. After Hermione's brain took a moment to catch up to what was happening, she followed suit and disarmed her mother.

"We've got to get them out of here," yelled Harry, and he joined Hermione in pulling her parents to their feet. With their hands emptied, the Grangers stood aimlessly and seemed to await further orders. Hermione hastily sealed their cuts with a healing spell.

"He's blocked Apparition," Harry shouted.

Hermione did not check for herself, but was sure that Harry was right.

"We can f-floo out," she said, and without a backward glance at the hole Voldemort had disappeared through, Harry helped Hermione push and pull her slow, stumbling parents from the kitchen.

Hermione knew that even Harry's powerful attack would not halt Voldemort for long, and her senses were on high alert as the group rushed to the stairs; she felt as if death might strike her down from behind at any moment. Miraculously, they made it safely to the top floor and into the study. Once inside, Hermione hastily shut the door and sealed it with a few quick protective spells – nothing that would have a chance of stopping Voldemort, but which might buy them a few more seconds.

Harry had already crossed the room to the fireplace, which he re-lit with a quick flick of his wand. He grabbed a fistful of floo powder from a jar on the mantle and tossed it into the fire. The yellow flames remained unchanged.

"What –?"

Hermione joined him in front of the fireplace, made a few rapid gestures with her wand, and then turned a wild, desperate look to Harry.

"I-it's no longer connected to the Floo Network . . ."

Harry returned her hopeless gaze and they stood frozen in fear, not knowing what to do next.

Hermione screamed as the house began to shake and everyone fell to the floor. With a deafening sound like the crack of thunder, the roof caved in to reveal the massive, probing head of a giant snake formed from fire.

Hermione looked up in horror and disbelief at the impossible creature, whose red, blazing eyes stretched nearly as wide as the room. Flaming debris dropped all around Harry and Hermione, narrowly missing them as they scrambled to join the Grangers by the door where a patch of protective roof remained.

The snake hissed and the room was filled with an unbearable blast of heat that singed Hermione's hair and stole her breath, and then the monster straightened up to observe them from thirty feet above, its head bobbing slightly but keeping its distance.

"There can be no escape," boomed Voldemort, whose amplified voice seemed to come from every direction. Hermione looked around but could not catch sight of him. "I have blocked Apparition for a mile in every direction. Surrender to me now, or the snake strikes again and again until there is nothing left of this hovel but a pile of ash."

Harry paused for a moment and appeared deep in thought. Then, suddenly, he began to move away from their huddled group toward the side of the room that was directly underneath the snake's hovering head.

"No, Harry!" said Hermione, who reached to grab his arm. Harry jerked free and crouched as he rushed across the dangerously creaking floor, weaving around piles of splintered wood and patches of fire to where a part of the wall had been brought down with the ceiling. Hermione held her breath as he peeked through the opening.

"You won't kill me," he yelled. His darting eyes appeared to be searching for Voldemort on the ground below.

"No," replied the Dark Lord, "but I do not extend that courtesy to the Mudblood or Muggles. Surrender now, or I will burn down every house in sight. I know you, Potter – you would not flee and leave so many innocents to die."

Harry pulled his head back from the opening and swore. He looked up at the fiery serpent – which, even at a distance, continued to fill the room with blistering heat – and then turned his eyes to Hermione, who saw a grim resolve form on his face.

"Hermione . . . get your parents downstairs." She could hear fear in his voice, but also determination.

"What? Harry –"

"Just do it," he shouted. "I'll be right behind you."

Hermione frantically began to undo the charms she had placed on the door and the mammoth snake straightened up, towering above them even higher, preparing to strike.

"I take that as a _no_," called Voldemort. "Very well. I am almost certain the Elder Wand can repair whatever is left of you."

Hermione's shaking hand fumbled on the doorknob as the snake lunged again. This time it stopped in mid-strike, its flaming fangs held back by Harry's hastily cast shield charm. Harry held his ground a mere ten feet from the beast and the two squared off face-to-face in a battle of wills, the snake struggling to inch forward while Harry fought to push it back by expanding his shield. The scene swam with blurred waves of heat, and the scorching-hot air became impossible to take in. The Grangers stumbled weakly against the door but continued to show no emotional reaction. Hermione held her breath but felt as though she would surely melt away in a matter of seconds. She finally wrenched open the door as Harry began to scream.

Hermione got her parents into the hallway with the aid of a quickly cast levitation charm and then closed the door, remaining in the room with Harry. With the air she had sucked into her lungs from the hall, she shouted a Reductor Curse that passed harmlessly through the monster's head.

Spots on Harry's body began to spontaneously catch fire as his stalemate with the snake continued. Harry's mouth was still stretched open in agony, although his scream had died out. With as much power as she could muster, Hermione reinforced Harry's shield charm with one of her own and the snake lost a little ground.

This seemed to give Harry the opening he needed, because he refortified his stance and swirled his wand in the air. The clouds above them darkened and Hermione's jaw dropped as the sky erupted into a violent downpour. The snake jerked away and appeared to diminish somewhat, and Harry dropped his shield to soak in the rain. Showing renewed strength, he continued to weave his wand and the storm intensified. The beast writhed above them, and for one incredible moment, Hermione believed it was finished.

But then every drop of water in the sky was simultaneously transfigured, and the air was thick with falling nails. Hermione flattened against the door in her corner of the room, which still offered protection overhead, and gasped as the sky-born missiles stuck into the floor before her feet. Harry wasn't so lucky.

Hermione could not fathom how he had managed to get another shield up, because the start of the onslaught had left him riddled with nails. They stuck out of Harry everywhere: his back, his arms, his legs – even his head. He had crumpled to his knees and hunched over so that his head rested on the floor. He was still and Hermione could not see his face.

Another scorching hiss rent the air, and Hermione looked up to see the full volume of the snake's flame returning. Nails continued to rain down, passing harmlessly through the beast and bouncing off Harry's shield, which had started to flicker. The floor underneath him was now covered in blood.

As Hermione urgently considered what she could do without Harry's extra power, she saw the nails in him become vapor and his wounds seal shut. Just as the snake reared back to strike, Harry leapt to his feet and slashed his wand through the air in wide, continuous arcs. The falling nails transformed again into millions of snowflakes, which were instantly whipped into the winds of a raging blizzard. The force of this storm was ten times as terrible as before, and Hermione clung to the wall as the gale came close to carrying her away.

The snake flickered for a moment and then vanished on the icy winds.

Harry swung his wand down and the snowstorm ceased. He stumbled a bit in the sunlight of the once-again clear, normal day, and then looked to Hermione. His eyes reflected the awe that Hermione knew must have shown on her face. She had never seen him open up like that and push his enhanced magic to its fullest extent, and the effects seemed to surprise him, as well.

Their reprieve lasted only a moment, however, before the house shook once more, this time with the force of a tremendous earthquake. They both toppled over and Harry disappeared through the floor as a large portion of it crumbled away.

"Harry!" cried Hermione, and she scrambled to her feet as the tremors stopped. She threw open the door, dashed into the hallway, and found her parents sprawled along the staircase. They writhed and groaned, appearing as though Voldemort's hold on them had finally been broken.

"Dad, come on," Hermione called, stooping to help her father up.

"H-Hermione . . ." he gasped. He dazedly looked around until his fearful gaze fell upon his wife. He gripped the railing and got to his feet, wincing and holding his shoulder as he did so. Hermione followed him down the stairs to her mother, whose face was wet with fresh blood that streaked down from some unseen wound beneath her hair. Thankfully, she was able to walk.

"We've got to find Harry and get out of here," said Hermione in a commanding voice. As a witch, their lives were in her hands and that steeled her. She _had_ to get them to safety; they could not pay for her mistakes. With no possible escape route, her only hope lay with Harry and his ability to seemingly do the impossible.

The three of them hurried across the ground floor to the spot where the upper level had caved in, but they saw no sign of Harry. Hermione realized that the snake must have come in contact with this entire side of the house, because the area still bore small, scattered fires that the storm hadn't reached.

The collapsing rubble had brought down a nearby wall, and through the jagged opening Hermione heard sounds of panic coming from outside. Gripping her wand so tightly that her fingernails cut into her palm, she maneuvered around the wreckage and looked cautiously through the hole, which led out to their driveway, small front yard, and a street lined with a row of houses on both sides.

"Hermione, wait!" cautioned her father in a harsh whisper.

Hermione held up a hand to silence him as she took in the scene before her. It was total pandemonium. Neighbors were fleeing in every direction while others had only just rushed out of their homes to investigate. A jet of green light struck a woman in the back as she ran down the street; her lifeless body fell to the asphalt in mid-stride and slid into the wheel of a parked car. Hermione recognized her as the lady who had always lived three houses down.

"Potter!" called a cold, furious voice, and Hermione adjusted her partially concealed position against the remains of the wall to see Voldemort standing in the street at the center of the chaos. "You continue to defy Lord Voldemort; now watch as these Muggles pay the price!"

Displaying a sick kind of satisfaction, Voldemort struck down another innocent victim before Hermione had a chance to react – a boy that could not have been more than ten years old.

Not knowing how to help but feeling that she must try, Hermione raised a foot to step through the opening but halted at the sound of a muffled impact nearby – Harry had run out from the side of the house and dove into her parents' burgundy sedan, smacking his shoulder up against its door. Hermione simply stared at him for a long, startled moment while he remained crouched, using the car for cover. His blood-soaked clothes were torn and even shredded in some places.

Harry reached into his back pocket, pulled out his flask, and then took a quick peek through the car's side window at Voldemort, who continued to pace down the street but had not yet trained his wand on another target. Harry squatted back down and hurriedly raised the flask to his lips – but before he drank, he met Hermione's eyes.

Time seemed to freeze as he stared at her, and in that one endless moment, Hermione realized what he was about to do.

Harry took one quick sip of Polyjuice Potion and shifted into the unremarkable visage of James Foster. He stowed away the flask, rose to chance another look at Voldemort, and positioned his body to spring into action. He again looked at Hermione, this time with a piercing stare that paralyzed her with fear. He gave a small nod in recognition, and then bolted from his hiding place.

All noise seemed to fade away as she watched him race toward the mayhem on a course that was sure to gain Voldemort's notice. Hermione tore her eyes away from him and found the Dark Lord just as he turned to Harry and raised his wand.

This was it; the moment she had dreaded with all her heart. Amidst the chaos of Voldemort's reckless assault, Harry had at last found a way to complete his final mission.

Hermione heard nothing but her own heart thumping in her ears, but saw the murderer's thin, lipless mouth shape the incantation . . . saw a flash of green . . . and Harry was blasted high into the air before crashing through the windshield of a parked van.

But it was only the concussive force of the Elder Wand's power that had thrown him; Harry had been shifted to the side just before the Killing Curse struck the ground next to him. Hermione looked down and found her wand shaking in her hand, pointing to where Harry had been. She had not thought, only acted.

The van creaked, and Harry laboriously pulled himself out of its shattered windshield, slid across the glass-strewn hood, and collapsed onto the ground. As he did so, his wand clattered onto the street and rolled a few feet away from him.

"What –?"

Voldemort's wide, red eyes took in his intended victim and the loose wand, and Hermione could sense the Dark Lord putting the pieces together, realizing what he had almost done and what it would have cost him. He then looked to where the shield had appeared and quickly glanced around until his savage stare found Hermione.

"Kill her," roared the Dark Lord, and his voice rang with such anger and raw power that Hermione was temporarily paralyzed in its echo. Voldemort then turned and stalked toward Harry, who lay writhing in broken glass.

Without warning, Hermione felt a heavy blow to her back and tumbled forward. Her face slammed hard into the ground, causing stars to pop before her eyes as she fought to roll onto her back and look for what had struck her. With a shock of horror, Hermione saw her father standing over her with a heavy plank of splintered wood raised above his head in preparation for another attack.

Hermione tried to roll to the side as the makeshift club swung down, but she caught it fully against her shoulder. Yelling in pain and panic, she scrambled to get her feet under her but was hit for a third time before she finally got away. The swing connected with her jaw, and she both felt and heard something crack.

Rising to her feet, Hermione dazedly staggered through the open wall and into the yard as she desperately tried to shake her head clear of a thick, painful fog. She wildly swung her arm forward to cast a protective spell but found her hand empty. She heard a sharp crack, and – feeling sick as though she were witnessing another murder – saw the two pieces of her wand in her mother's hands.

Still disoriented and with no means of protection, Hermione turned and fled. She sucked in rapid, shallow breaths as she ran around the side of the house with no destination in mind; her parents' footfalls were close behind her. She heard Voldemort's sadistic shout from somewhere in the distance as he cast his next curse.

"_Crucio_!"

Hermione looked over her shoulder to see that, past her pursuing parents, Harry had risen to his feet and wandlessly cast another powerful shield charm against Voldemort's attack.

"How –?" screamed Voldemort, sounding both awed and enraged. "Where did you get such power?"

Hermione turned the corner into the backyard, but not before glimpsing Harry summon his wand to his hand and begin dueling Voldemort. The sounds of their clashing spells rang across the neighborhood as she reached the back door just a few steps ahead of her parents. She was in no shape to outrun them, and with only a second to act, she threw open the door, fell through it onto the floor, and slammed it closed with her feet. The door shuddered as her father threw his body against it, and Hermione scrambled to her knees to turn the lock a split-second before he turned the doorknob.

Hermione began to cry as he pounded on the door, and she let out a scream when his arm crashed through the door's window to blindly reach for the deadbolt latch. Pressing her hand to the wall for support, she stumbled from the room and made it as far as the stairway before hearing the door fly open with a loud bang. With her remaining strength, Hermione hurried past the stairs to the guest bedroom and tore through Harry's rucksack until she found his Invisibility Cloak. Her hands were shaking so badly that she barely managed to cover herself before her mother darted into the room.

Clamping her hands over her mouth to contain any frightened sobs or shouts of pain, Hermione moved as slowly and silently as possible into the far corner of the room while her mother – who had quickly been joined by Hermione's father – searched the closet and under the bed. After only a few frantic moments, they moved on and Hermione allowed herself a small whimper as she slumped to the floor.

"How did you escape the Chamber of Secrets? How can you summon such powerful magic? TELL ME, Potter!"

Voldemort's demand carried through the room's partially opened window, and Hermione leaned forward to find that she could look through it to glimpse the battle that was taking place in the street. Dazzling colors flashed in rapid succession as the mortal enemies danced around each other, dodging and deflecting spells at an impossible speed. Harry's small dose of Polyjuice Potion had worn off quickly, and he once again wore his true face.

Hermione sucked in a breath and held it, certain that Harry would be struck down at any moment.

"How can you stand against the Dark Lord and the Elder Wand?" continued Voldemort, desperation mixing with his anger. "Tell me your secret or I swear I will destroy everyone and everything you hold dear!"

"You're going to have to kill me, Tom! I'm too powerful to control now; you can't lock me away anymore!" Harry's voice carried a newfound confidence, and Hermione watched in awe as her friend proved that he was equal to the world's deadliest dark wizard.

Voldemort screamed in anger, losing his calm and commanding demeanor completely. He seemed more snake than man as he lashed out again and again, but his spells either did little damage or hit harmlessly against Harry's shields. Harry also failed to land a significant blow, and the stalemate continued as the rising sounds of sirens began to fill the air.

Hermione moved closer to the window and, as the sirens grew louder, felt a faint spark of hope. Although Muggles stood no chance against Voldemort, she was desperate for any help, any distraction that might provide an opening for escape.

Without disengaging from his duel with Harry, Voldemort threw two blasting hexes down the street and Hermione heard horrible out-of-sight explosions. A heartbeat later, two police cars, trailing flame and smoke, soared through the air over the battle. Harry spun around to swipe his wand at the wrecks as they flew overhead and the cars slowed their descent, apparently under the effect of a levitation charm. But in his effort to save the lives of the drivers, Harry had turned his back to his enemy and was hit with a Full Body-Bind curse.

Voldemort swept forward to stand face-to-face with his frozen foe and appeared to be on the verge of striking a physical blow before he mastered his emotions. His teeth were bared and his shoulders were hunched forward as if he were preparing to pounce – it was clear that Lord Voldemort had never been pushed this far before.

"You . . ." panted Voldemort, winded from battle. "Are going to spend the rest of your miserable existence in a _box_."

Hermione prepared to rush out to them, not knowing how she could possibly help, when Harry's entire body flashed with a brilliant white light. In the blink of an eye, he shot forward and pushed Voldemort to the ground. Harry once again called his wand to his hand and spun it toward his enemy, who had quickly risen to his feet.

"_IMPERIO_!"

This time it was the Dark Lord who froze, his wand remaining half-raised in a failed attempt to defend himself. He screamed in protest and his body trembled as he struggled against the Unforgivable Curse.

"THIS IS NOT . . . POSSIBLE!" he bellowed, slowly forcing his head to rise to meet Harry's eyes. "NO ONE . . . CONTROLS . . . ME!"

Harry said nothing, but gripped his shaking wand with both hands to keep it trained on Voldemort. It seemed to take every last bit of Harry's power to maintain the Imperius Curse, which appeared to waver as Voldemort's wand rose to level itself at Harry. The Dark Lord, however, seemed surprised by the movement.

"What are you –?"

"You're going to kill me," grunted Harry through clenched teeth. "And I'm going to kill _you_." The two men stood with their wands pointed at each other, their power struggle whipping up a frenzied wind of debris around them.

"On . . . three, then?" said Harry, and Hermione was struck by the mad kind of relish in his strained voice. They were going to kill each other; Harry's part of Voldemort's soul would be destroyed along with the rest of its master, and the Dark Lord would be completely finished.

"ONE . . ."

"No," whispered Hermione.

"T-TWO . . ."

Voldemort again screamed in anger and Harry seemed to struggle harder than ever to force his will upon him. The house and surrounding area began to quake under the unimaginable amount of magic at war.

"T . . . TH –"

But Harry's control finally broke as, with a primal roar, Voldemort lunged at him.

Suddenly looking as if he could barely stand, Harry had his wand swatted away as he staggered backward. His head was seized and roughly pulled before the Dark Lord's wide, searching gaze.

"NO ONE can match my power," bellowed Voldemort. "Or the power of the Elder Wand!" He stared at Harry as if he could not believe what he was seeing. "I will have your secrets . . ."

And then, Hermione was sure, Voldemort invaded Harry's thoughts. Only the lure of an unknown power, one greater than his, could have tempted the Dark Lord to once again subject himself to the torture of entering such a pure mind.

For several anguished moments, Hermione watched as Harry's limp body trembled under the assault, his arms flailing helplessly at his sides. But then Harry managed to grip the hands that held his head in place and he slowly pulled himself up to Voldemort's level. Their gazes remained locked, but now they _both_ shook as if a new war was being waged inside their minds.

As they continued their battle of wills, the house began to rattle worse than ever. It emitted ominous creaks and groans, and bits of plaster and dust began to crack loose from the ceiling to fall all around Hermione.

She heard a gut-wrenching duet of screams, and then – as if someone had simply switched them off – Harry and Voldemort collapsed to the street. The house immediately stilled and an eerie silence settled over the area.

Terrified, Hermione watched their motionless bodies through the window for one long, breathless moment, and then she hurried from the room. At long last, the time had come for her to take action. In his rage and rush for power, the Dark Lord had left himself exposed and vulnerable. If she could reach Harry's wand before Voldemort came to . . .

The house was falling apart and she was forced to avoid scattered, shattered furniture and more falling debris as she ran. Hermione was halfway to the front door when something slammed into her side and knocked her to the ground. Ignoring her many pains, she scrambled to her knees and saw that it was her mother that had tackled her. In her haste, Hermione had not thought to keep the cloak wrapped completely around her.

Hermione got to her feet first and ran in the opposite direction, toward the back door, before her father appeared from around a corner to block her path. Her only remaining escape route was the opening in the wall that she had used to spy on Voldemort earlier. Dodging her lunging father, Hermione pushed her aching legs to carry her to the makeshift exit. If she could just get Harry's wand, she could stop her parents and bring an end to this.

When she reached the wreckage that lay before the demolished wall, Hermione found that the scattered fires in the area had spread. Much of the room was now covered in flames, and she paused to search for a safe way through. In the instant that she hesitated, however, her parents charged her and the three of them toppled into the rubble.

Hermione felt herself grabbed and clawed as she blindly struggled to break free. She could see the exit but was overcome by her attackers, who mercilessly beat her as she cried out and begged for them to remember who they were and realize what they were doing. And then the room was filled with a thunderous rumble as the remaining ceiling came crashing down upon them.

Hermione lay broken and blind, immersed in total darkness. She could not tell up from down; it was as if she were drowning in deep, dark water. Parts of her were numb while other areas pulsed in agony, and it was difficult to tell what she was moving as she attempted to work her way free. For what must have been minutes, she simply pushed and pulled whatever parts of her body she could until, miraculously, she rolled out from the rubble. She coughed and felt her chest compress painfully as she spluttered out blood. There had likely been some internal damage, but she couldn't worry about that now.

Through blurred vision, Hermione spotted a still and blood-streaked arm and leg – her mother's – sticking out from the mountain of wreckage. Riding a fresh wave of fear that struck her like a knife to her heart, Hermione willed herself to stand. She then saw her father, who was pinned under a massive beam. He struggled to push it off him as a sheet of flames danced ever closer.

Hobbling to his side, Hermione tried with all her might to move the beam, but it was no good. The heat from the fire was becoming unbearable; there was no time to run for Harry's wand . . .

Suddenly, she felt her father's large hands close around her throat and squeeze. Even while in mortal peril, with his wife dead or dying, he could not disobey Voldemort's last command. The fire crept closer until it enveloped him, but still he did not let go. Hermione pulled at his hands with every ounce of her remaining strength but could not loosen his grip; could not draw a breath . . .

And then she was on fire, and they burned together. It was agony beyond endurance, but she could not scream as she thrashed against the hands that held her within the flames. Her eyes darted around the room and she saw the visible remains of her mother ablaze on the pyre. Hermione turned her horrified gaze to her father and found that tears leaked from his wide, empty eyes. Did some part of him know what he was doing? She vaguely considered this as her all-encompassing pain receded into a numb kind of darkness. Her vision was closing in and she could feel herself drifting away . . .

She was confused, then, to suddenly find herself looking up from the floor. Her father's arms had fallen and he lay unmoving in the inferno. A heartbeat later the pain was back in full force, and as the flames continued to consume her, Hermione screamed at last – a piercing, guttural yell that ruined what was left of her throat. As her voice died, however, another rang throughout the room.

"_AGUAMENTI_!"

A massive wave washed over Hermione, extinguishing her fire and sweeping her across the floor. She was cradled in a new pair of hands, which sent jolts of pain from where they stuck to her raw flesh.

"H-Hermione! Oh, no . . . _no_, _no_, _no_ . . ."

She focused on the source of the frantic voice and found Harry's horrified face hovering before her.

"I w-won't let you die," he said, his voice breaking. "H-Hang on, Hermione – I don't know if this will work, but I have to try; he's right behind me . . ."

Over his shoulder, Hermione saw Voldemort stagger through the opening in the wall; like Harry, he seemed weak and unsteady. She saw the Dark Lord aim his wand at them, saw his mouth begin to shape an incantation, and then everything went black.

Hermione felt as if she were being squeezed from every direction. It was the uncomfortable feeling of Apparition, but many times worse. She was being pressed more tightly than ever before, and quickly felt as if she were being crushed as she lingered in the void much longer than usual. Finally, she felt rather than heard an almighty _boom_ that rattled her bones. There was a moment of relief as the pressure around her relaxed, but then it began to close in upon her again, just as painfully as before. She had not yet been able to draw a breath, and her chest felt as if it would cave in. A second noiseless blast sent a shockwave through her body, and she sucked in air as the darkness and pressure lifted completely.

With great effort, Hermione managed to open her eyes halfway to look through a blurred haze at Harry, who still loomed over her. He seemed to be in only slightly better shape than she was; his skin was deathly pale and his black hair was matted with blood and dirt. His green eyes appeared panicked as they searched her face; she saw his mouth moving but could not hear his words. In fact, Hermione heard nothing besides a constant high-pitched ringing in her ears.

She let her head roll limply to the side and saw evidence of more destruction; overturned furniture and cracked, blackened walls. It looked as if they had been at the center of an explosion.

Hermione clenched in agony as Harry suddenly turned, causing her to shift painfully in his arms. She traced the direction of his gaze and could barely make out the distant forms of several people entering the room. Their faces came into focus and Hermione at last understood what had happened – Harry had somehow broken through Voldemort's anti-Apparition magic and escaped to the Burrow.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Bill and Fleur, George, Charlie, and others all stared at them in absolute shock. Some drew their wands while others appeared unable to move.

At the center of the group stood Ginny, her eyes wide in an expression that Hermione couldn't name.

People began to shout – at least, it appeared that way; Hermione was still deaf. Only one soft, muffled word reached her because of its incredible volume and the twisted face that screamed it – Ron had called her name. Hermione could tell from the tortured way he looked at her that, if she survived this, she would never be the same. A part of her tried to reach for him, but the impulse could not find its way to her arms. She worked to keep her eyelids from falling as Ron ran toward her, his continued shouts falling dully against her ears . . .

_Darkness_.

Light – Hermione was jolted back to consciousness by a bright flash, and then she fell to the floor; Harry had been grazed by a spell and dropped her. As she rolled to a stop, every movement, every touch, brought her excruciating pain. More spells were hurled but they struck a shield charm that was smaller and more fragile than any she had ever seen Harry cast before.

Even as Hermione suffered and fought to stay conscious, the pieces slid together in her mind easily: in his haste, Harry had taken them directly into the house, blowing through a second set of anti-Apparition wards and arriving with the force of a cannon blast. Everyone had heard that Voldemort used Harry look-a-likes as human bombs, but nobody knew that the real Harry still lived . . . and he had been discovered crouching over her burned and broken body . . .

_Darkness_.

"–ione!"

Hermione reopened her eyes to find that Ron's face now swam before her. He screamed her name again and again, his muffled shouts reaching her as if from a great distance. His expression was tortured and crazed, his cheeks wet with tears. He had kneeled to hold her, and Hermione groaned as she suddenly realized the new pains caused by his touch.

Hermione saw a series of colored flashes from the corner of her eye and slowly turned her head to look past Ron. Harry had stumbled away through the room and furniture was being blown into the air all around him by errant incoming spells. He stayed crouched behind his shield charm, which flickered weakly against a relentless barrage of magic. It was clear that the battle with Voldemort – and pushing through the wards – had left him alarmingly weak.

The Weasleys had spread out into the room, some firing spells from behind cover while others, like Bill, attacked Harry head-on. Harry did not return their fire, but appeared to be scrambling to find a way out. There was no escape from a room so small and populated, however, and Charlie soon tackled Harry through his fragile shield. Bill quickly joined his brother, and Hermione watched in horror as they pinned Harry down and pounded him into submission.

The rest of the family converged on the spot and Mr. Weasley pulled his sons off Harry. Ginny and her mother looked on as Bill and Charlie stood and lifted Harry's limp, bloody body to its knees and held him there by his arms. Fleur watched from the doorway, cradling Victoire fearfully. Harry barely looked alive and made no effort to speak or break free.

Hermione's heart sped; she knew that she had to help him somehow . . .

_Darkness_ . . .

. . . _and fire. Her father's eyes, crying as they bore into her through the flames_ . . .

"–tay with me, Hermione, _please_ . . ."

Hermione blinked up at Ron and then looked back to Harry, whose seemingly lifeless body was still being held up by Bill and Charlie.

Ginny now stood before Harry, staring down at the battered boy while shaking off her parents' attempts to pull her away. The ringing in Hermione's ears was fading, and she began to pick out pieces of what the Weasleys were shouting . . .

"–too dangerous; he could blow up at any second!"

"Get _back_, Ginny!"

"–nish him off; it's the only way to be sure . . ."

"Boys, get him outside! Molly, help Ron with Hermione!"

In the center of the noise and panic, Ginny remained motionless over Harry's sagging form, her wand clutched tightly at her side. Hermione saw longing, hatred, and disgust play across the girl's face while she continued to throw off the hands that tried to tug her away.

"Look," said Charlie, and he raised his hand to show something to Bill – Harry's flask.

Bill let his side of Harry drop as he took the flask, removed its cap, and sniffed the potion inside. He then poured the liquid out, and his face lit with anger as he studied it.

"Polyjuice," he snarled, and then he threw the empty flask hard against Harry's bowed head. The impact stirred Harry; he rolled his head back and looked up to find Ginny, who was visibly shaking as she stared back at him.

The arm that Bill had released twitched for a moment before Harry managed to swing it up to clutch Ginny's shirt. The group responded instantly, simultaneously trying to pull Ginny away while prying Harry off her. But Harry held on and even freed his other arm to help pull closer to her. With his eyes locked on Ginny's, Harry tried to speak but could only sputter a weak, meaningless noise.

Finally, several hands tore him from Ginny and he slid down her to the floor, leaving the front of her clothes smeared with his blood. George stepped between them as Bill and Charlie re-secured Harry's arms.

"Rrrrn . . ." gurgled Hermione. She had to make Ron understand that Harry was not a threat – that they shouldn't hurt him – but could not form the words.

"Rrrrnn . . . H-Hrrry . . ."

"Shhh," said Ron, holding her closer to him. "D-don't try to speak, Hermione; save your strength and just s-stay with me, all right?" Ron's tear-filled eyes turned to his family. "Somebody, _please_ – help her!"

"Har . . . ryyy . . ."

_Darkness_.

A rush of sound assaulted Hermione as she emerged from the void, the ringing in her ears almost gone. Ginny was screaming at the top of her lungs as she struggled to push past George and get back to Harry.

"BASTARD!" she screeched through tortured sobs. "HOW D-DARE YOU . . ."

As she shouted at him, Harry tried to lift his head to look at her but failed; he barely seemed conscious.

"Arthur!" cried Mrs. Weasley, who Hermione was startled to find kneeling next to her beside Ron.

"Boys!" Mr. Weasley yelled over his daughter's continued shrieks. "I told you to take him _out_ of here! Go! Now!"

Ginny's screams became incoherent; her face was contorted with inhuman agony.

"R-Ron," choked Hermione. Her breathing hitched in her throat from the pain of speaking. "It's . . . Har . . ."

"Everyone get back!" yelled Bill, as Harry unexpectedly broke free and summoned a last burst of strength to stumble to his feet.

"R-Ron . . . _it's Harry_ . . ."

"_AVADA KEDAVRA_!"

Green light filled the room and, with a pain that far surpassed all her others, Hermione knew what had happened even before she saw Harry fall.

His wide, emerald eyes showed a faint look of surprise as they stared unseeingly at the girl before him. Ginny had fought around George's side to take aim at Harry, and her quivering wand still pointed at him as he crumpled. The gathered crowd watched in shocked silence as the body thudded to the floor, its arms and legs splaying out at odd angles.

Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. Beside her, Hermione heard Mrs. Weasley draw in a shaky, shallow breath.

George came to life first and snatched the wand from Ginny's hand. She did not resist. She seemed as stunned as the others at what she had done and brought her hands to her face, peering through her fingers at the body that lay before her.

The others were a blur to Hermione as she focused on Harry, who had not been killed by his greatest enemy, but by the woman he loved more than anyone or anything in the world. Had the fragment of Voldemort's soul survived? Was Voldemort now impossible to kill?

And what did it matter? Harry was gone, just like her parents. There was no way for Hermione to come back from this. She lay in Ron's arms, ready for death to take her. Images of empty green eyes and burning bodies pressed upon her as darkness closed in, and she willingly fled into the void, desperate for any escape, any release . . .

* * *

Next:

For a long time, Ginny Weasley's life has been a relentless series of challenges. Even when she failed to pass them, she had at least managed to endure. But can she hope to survive what stands before her now?

Coming soon, the eleventh chapter in _The World I Leave Behind_, "The World Undone."


	12. Chapter Eleven: The World Undone

People aren't often fortunate enough to achieve their deepest, most desperate desire – most don't even know what it is they truly want. So it's a wonderful thing when a wish comes true, and even more amazing when, on very rare occasions, the reality of having that special something is even better than the dream. It's amazing . . . and terrifying.

"Earth to Ginny . . . hello? Great, revision has finally melted my girlfriend's brain. At least I can tell Hermione I told her so."

A wide grin stretched across Ginny's face as she was pulled back from her wandering thoughts. Hearing _that_ voice call her "girlfriend" would never get old.

"If revising really _did_ do my head in, do you think she'd stop shooing you away every time you come near me?"

"Well," said Harry, scrunching his eyebrows in mock contemplation. "I suspect that Hermione would've sat for _her_ OWLs even if her brain had fallen out of her head, so . . . no."

Ginny tilted her face toward Harry's to receive his most endearing crooked smile, and for the hundredth time in the past few days, three words almost slipped through her lips: _I love you_.

She had thought, at first, that it was far too soon to consider that particular emotion. Just as she had tried for years to dismiss her feelings for Harry as infatuation, Ginny told herself that she was simply caught up in the first few fascinating weeks of a new romance. But while she had liked other boys, those feelings didn't come close to what she held for Harry. This was real. This meant everything. How could it _not_ be love? And how could that realization _not_ be a little frightening when you're just fifteen?

She sighed and snuggled closer to him. The feel of his body against hers was heavenly as they sat together on their favorite sofa in the dark and deserted Gryffindor common room. Ginny's textbooks lay scattered on the floor, forgotten the moment she and Harry had realized they were the only ones left who hadn't gone to bed.

"Well, I can't slag Hermione off _too_ much," said Ginny. "Without her planning my study schedules and loaning me her old notes, I probably wouldn't even scrape as many OWLs as Fred or George. And she's right," Ginny added, throwing Harry her most mischievous smile. "You _are_ a bad influence."

"Well," Harry shrugged, "I never said I wasn't."

He flashed another heart-stopping grin and lowered his lips to hers.

During the few weeks they had been together, Ginny had cataloged all of Harry's kisses: the playful pecks when others were around; the teasing grazes across her lips when Ron's back was turned; and the slow, soft, burning kisses that he saved for the rare moments when they were alone. All of them easily beat the wet messes her past boyfriends had planted on her, and sent electric jolts through her body. It wasn't that Harry's technique was especially refined – although Ginny certainly had no complaints in that area – but what left her weak in the knees was the care and affection he put into each and every one.

Ginny responded to Harry's current kiss as she always did, with much enthusiasm and the same tender care that she felt from him. If she couldn't yet say her true feelings aloud, she could at least try to make him _feel_ them. She parted his lips to deepen the kiss and Harry moaned into her mouth, triggering a flash of heat, and pride that she had pulled the sound from him. Ginny was only vaguely aware of her actions as she crawled into his lap, their continued kiss boiling hotter into new and uncharted territory. They drowned themselves in each other until they were finally forced to come up for air, their chests heaving as they each worked to catch their breath.

"I think," Ginny panted, "that might have actually melted my brain."

"I've gone blind," Harry deadpanned. Ginny saw that his glasses had fogged entirely up and she let out a burst of laughter.

"You're adorable," she chuckled. _And I love you_, she added inside her head. She carefully removed Harry's frames, wiped the lenses with her robes, and returned them to his face with a quick kiss on his nose. Still straddling his lap, she hugged up against him and wrapped herself in his warmth for several silent, blissful seconds.

In those moments of complete contentment, it felt as if the secret words would burst from her chest. She felt silly for keeping them quiet, for worrying when she was happier than she had ever been. But the years Ginny had suffered as she went unnoticed by Harry had left her in the habit of hiding her emotions. She still had trouble believing that all of this was real; that the dream she had all but given up on had miraculously come true at last.

And now that she had him, some small part of her was waiting for him to leave. When you find yourself with everything you've ever wanted, you realize that you have everything to lose. One false move and – _poof!_ – the spell would break.

Ginny knew that she was being irrational, and she managed not to dwell on her insecurities. But with everything going so right at the moment, it seemed silly to risk rocking the boat, to take things too far, too fast when she did not truly know how Harry would respond.

Would Harry even recognize love if he felt it? After growing up in a house full of neglectful, hateful Muggles, would he have any idea what it's like to care for someone that strongly and have the feeling returned?

If he didn't know, Ginny would show him. With each look and every touch she would teach him what love was. And one day – hopefully someday soon – she would know for sure that they were in the same place, and that what they had would last.

Harry was worth the wait – he always had been – and they had time. No matter what the world would throw at them, no matter what trials they might face, they would be together. She had to believe that.

Ginny sat back and looked deep into Harry's emerald eyes, which reflected the warmth and wonder in her gaze.

"You make me so happy, Harry."

_And I love you_.

The very next day, Albus Dumbledore was struck down atop the highest tower.

* * *

**The World I Leave Behind  
**Chapter Eleven: The World Undone

* * *

She had almost forgotten how shockingly green his eyes were.

Despite the commotion around her – or the fact that Hermione, her best friend, lay dead or dying – Ginny could not look away from those green eyes, even though they weren't really Harry's. They continued to stare at her from the floor, wide and unblinking.

In the minutes since she had killed the imposter, Ginny stood motionless, staring at his borrowed face and memorizing the details that had begun to fade from her memory.

"Bill, get the Anti-Apparition ward back up! And be sure to check the other enchantments!"

"Thank Merlin you came, Poppy – we've put her in Ginny's room, just up the stairs. Please, if there's anything you can do . . ."

Ginny heard the shouting all around her but remained numb to it. The wreckage of the sitting room; Hermione's ruined body; the unforgivable thing Ginny had done . . . it was as if it were all in some other world. For Ginny, nothing existed but Harry's eyes.

"Ginny, come on . . ."

The soft and sympathetic tone belonged to George. She felt his hand take her arm, but she did not turn to look at him.

"Don't you think twice about it," came a second, harsher voice – Charlie's. "You did the right thing, Ginny. He could've killed every one of us. This piece of rubbish isn't worth a second thought." He then kicked the side of the green-eyed corpse to emphasize his point.

On instinct, Ginny nearly protested Charlie's abuse of Harry's look-alike. Instead, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"How . . . how's Hermione?"

When neither of her brothers answered, Ginny finally turned toward them. Her eyes settled on George.

"It's bad," he said, taking a deep breath of his own. "She's . . . she's a real mess. Barely breathing. Mum and dad took her to your room. I just saw Madame Pomfrey on her way up there – dad flooed her at Shell Cottage. Ron . . ."

George simply shook his head and a heavy silence fell upon them. The only noise was the muffled bustle from the floor above. Ginny vividly recalled Ron cradling Hermione's nearly unrecognizable body as he cried out in desperation for someone to help her.

"We should go up there," said Ginny. "See if there's anything we can do to help." Her voice was trancelike. The uncontrollable rage that had possessed her ended the moment she struck the final blow against their attacker, leaving her empty and disoriented. Nothing seemed real.

"You two go on," said Charlie. "I'll take _him_ outside." He grimaced as he gestured toward the body on the floor. "Even though he's dead, I don't trust the bastard. Who's to say he won't still blow up like all the other Harry imposters?" With George's hand tugging at her arm, Ginny finally moved from the spot where she had cast the Killing Curse. But as she passed the fake Harry, she knelt beside him and, with a trembling hand, closed his piercing eyes.

Her legs shook as she rose, and only George's grip on her arm kept her from falling back to the floor. Ginny leaned against his shoulder and let him guide her toward the hallway.

But before they could leave the room . . .

_Crack! _

Ginny spun around to find an aged elf standing where she had been, a locket dangling from his wrinkled neck. It was Kreacher, former servant to the house of Black; the house-elf who had once called Harry his master.

Kreacher gave them no notice; his bulging eyes gazed only at the lifeless body before him.

"M-Master Harry," he croaked in his deep bullfrog's voice. "Kreacher could not believe it when he felt – he did not _want_ to believe . . ."

Ginny and her brothers looked on in silent shock and confusion as the elf stumbled to the imposter's body and fell to his knees before it, giant teardrops spilling down his weathered face.

"You're . . . Kreacher, aren't you?" asked George. "From Grimmauld Place? Where did you . . . what . . . why are you here?"

But the house-elf's only response was to sob harder and throw his arms across the body. Charlie, who had been about to move the corpse, stood next to it, unsure of what to do. George exchanged a look with Ginny, who then approached Kreacher and kneeled beside him. She tentatively reached toward him but pulled her hand back before making contact.

"Kreacher . . ."

"Who did it?" asked Kreacher, his face buried in the imposter's chest. And then, raising his head to look directly into Ginny's eyes, he demanded, "Who killed my master?"

His voice was thick with a kind of emotion that Ginny could never have imagined coming from the elf. She had heard from Ron that Kreacher had changed his attitude toward Harry, but still . . .

"Kreacher," Ginny said softly. "This . . . this isn't Harry. Harry died over a year ago. This is a –"

"Where is Miss Granger?" the elf interrupted. He ignored Ginny and looked around the room as if he expected Hermione to be there. "Master Harry asked Kreacher to help Miss Granger if something were to happen to him; Kreacher will serve _her_, now."

It was becoming too much for Ginny to take. She was still shaken by the appearance of Harry's double, the guilt of having cast the Killing Curse, and the fact that her friend was fighting for her life. Ginny could no longer bear to watch Kreacher weep over the body as if it were really Harry. She looked pleadingly at George and he took over the conversation.

"Hermione is hurt, Kreacher. They're tending to her upstairs, but we don't know –"

But before George could finish speaking, the house-elf darted out of the room and into the hallway.

"Wait!" yelled George, who sprinted after him. Ginny joined her brother, and in a flash they had followed the patter of the elf's tiny feet up the stairs to Ginny's room.

"That old bugger is faster than he looks," said George as they took in the scene through Ginny's doorway.

Ginny had never before seen her small room packed with so many people. Madame Pomfrey hovered over Hermione's guest bed, which was flanked by Ginny's parents. Ron stood at the head of the bed with his hands clasped behind his neck, his face broken into an expression of raw agony that made Ginny feel a hundred times worse.

Ron couldn't lose Hermione, not after all he'd suffered through to get her back. He just couldn't.

Fleur stood just inside the doorway, tears staining her beautiful face as she held her daughter tightly to her. And standing by her feet . . .

"Kreacher!" snapped George, and he took hold of the elf's arm before Kreacher could move into the room. Several heads turned toward the doorway, their eyes widening at the sight of the small visitor. Only Madame Pomfrey continued about her business as if there had been no interruption, along with Ron, who Ginny suspected might not know that any of them were there.

Just then Madame Pomfrey moved to the side of the bed, which allowed Ginny to see Hermione fully for the first time. It was even worse than she had thought.

The sight of scorched flesh made Ginny sick to her stomach. Much of Hermione's hair had burned away, and her charred and tattered clothes had been stripped off to reveal a figure that bore little resemblance to the pretty girl Ginny knew. Worst of all was the smell.

"Where did _he_ come from?" asked Mr. Weasley, who gave Kreacher a very curious look.

"Don't know," George replied. "He just popped in, and . . . he seems to think that the bloke downstairs is really Harry. Said Harry had told him to find Hermione."

Kreacher simply stared at Hermione and wept fresh tears.

"Kreacher has failed his master," he croaked. "Him and Miss Granger, who both spoke so highly of Master Regulus." The house-elf paused to sniffle. "Kreacher failed Master Regulus, too."

"Don't count Miss Granger out yet," snapped Madame Pomfrey, who regained everyone's full attention. She kept her eyes on her work as she flew around the bed casting spells and administering potions to various places on Hermione's body. "Molly, that should be enough dittany there – start with her other arm."

Mrs. Weasley, who had been gently applying a brown liquid to Hermione's right shoulder, hurried to the other side of the bed and continued her work. Ginny saw that her mother's face was wet, and could tell that she was barely keeping her emotions reigned in as she studied Hermione's horrible wounds up close.

"There are more than just burn wounds here," said Madame Pomfrey to no one in particular. "Injuries to her back and left shoulder, broken ribs, a cracked jaw . . . a concussion is likely . . . and it looks as if she was strangled."

A sharp, guttural noise slipped from Ron and his hands fisted in the hair on the back of his head. Rage now colored the misery on his face.

"Good lord," choked Mr. Weasley. "W-What in Merlin's name –"

"Father!"

Ginny turned from her spot by the doorway to see Percy run up the stairs toward them. He took a step into the room and spoke in a rush.

"Kingsley's face is in the fire. He asked for you – he says that he has urgent news!"

Mr. Weasley stared at his son for a moment, and then crossed the room to meet him.

"What did you tell him?"

"N-Nothing . . ."

"Okay . . . all right. I'll go speak with him. You lot," his eyes swept across the room's other occupants, "stay put in case Poppy needs you. I'll be right back." He then sped down the stairs with Percy following close behind.

The room fell silent as Madame Pomfrey and Mrs. Weasley continued their work. The only noise was a low shushing sound from Fleur as she tried to calm Victoire, who had begun to stir in her mother's arms. Kreacher sat on the floor just inside the room and held his large, hairless head in his hands.

After a minute or so, George leaned in close to Ginny and whispered.

"D'you reckon that Kingsley's news has anything to do with this?"

But Ginny did not reply, for at that moment she caught a glimpse of something beyond her bedroom window.

"Is that . . . an owl?"

Ginny moved to the window and opened it just in time for the tawny bird to fly through. Its fluttering wings caught everyone's attention as it landed on Ginny's unoccupied bed and shot quick looks around the room. Ginny spotted an envelope fixed to its leg, and she reached for it only to have the owl shuffle away from her. It left the bed and flapped its wings over to Ron, who tried to wave it away, looking annoyed at the intrusion.

"Get off, you bloody bird!"

"Ron," said Ginny, "I think the letter is for you – it could be important . . ."

He grudgingly allowed the bird to land on his shoulder and then snatched the envelope free. The owl hooted indignantly and took off, cuffing Ron's head with its wing on its way back through the open window.

Ron swore and then his face fell back into anguish as his eyes returned to Hermione. He blindly tore open the envelope and then lowered his gaze to the letter he unfolded. A crease formed between his eyebrows as he read.

"Hermione wrote this . . ."

"What?" gasped Ginny.

Ron looked curiously at Hermione and held the letter out for Ginny to take.

"What does it say?" asked Mrs. Weasley as she continued to apply the brown liquid to Hermione's arm.

Ginny read the letter aloud:

_Ron, _

_I don't know how to put this, so I will be direct: I have kept something very important from you, and it is long past time for me to tell you the truth. Will you please arrange to meet with me privately when I return tonight? _

_I am so very sorry. I hope that you can forgive me. _

_Love, Hermione_

"What could she have meant . . .?" Ginny wondered aloud.

A weak sob came from Kreacher, who was now clutching his knees and slowly rocking himself back and forth on the floor. Ginny felt an icy, indescribable something begin to rise in the pit of her stomach.

She didn't catch her father's footfalls until he appeared on the landing beside her. His face was white; behind him, Percy looked as if he had just been Confunded.

"What is it, dad?" said George. "What's going on?" Everyone watched Mr. Weasley with bated breath as he stepped into the room.

"There has been an attack at the Granger residence. A large number of Aurors are there now, including a few that are loyal to the Order. They've sent word . . . the Grangers are dead."

"N-No . . ." cried Mrs. Weasley. Ginny felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. Ron buried his face in his hands.

"Half the house had fallen in," continued Mr. Weasley. "They were found buried in the rubble. There was a fire . . . their bodies were badly burned."

Ginny blinked away tears as she looked back at the blistered body on Hermione's bed and began to imagine what might have happened. It was too horrible to comprehend.

"What . . . what about James?" she said, remembering their houseguest who had left with Hermione earlier that day.

"No one has seen any sign of him. He was supposed to have gone straight home after flooing to the Grangers; if we're lucky, he was gone before the attack." Mr. Weasley sighed. "But that still may not mean he's safe. The entire neighborhood is a wreck. There are scorch marks in the street; cars overturned . . . so far the Aurors have found five dead Muggles." Mr. Weasley removed his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. "It's going to take a while to get everything sorted; the Obliviators can't begin to modify the surviving Muggles' memories until all of the damage to the area is undone."

"Did any of the Muggles see what happened?" It was Charlie who spoke; Ginny hadn't noticed his arrival.

Mr. Weasley sat on the edge of Ginny's bed, looking like the weight of the world was pushing him down.

"Bits . . . and pieces. Most of them simply panicked and ran when the commotion started, but some spoke of . . . of a giant snake made of fire and a sudden snowstorm. They say it rained nails from the sky. A few Muggles described seeing what sounds like a wizard's duel between two men."

"A duel?" said Percy. "But that would mean . . ."

"Zat someone was trying to stop ze one who did zis," finished Fleur.

"James?" guessed George.

"I don't think so. The two wizards were described as a man in black robes and someone dressed as a Muggle with dark hair."

The room went quiet as everyone considered this.

"That's enough dittany, I think," said Madame Pomfrey. She continued to cast spells over Hermione's body as Mrs. Weasley stepped away.

"That's everything?" Asked Charlie, addressing his father. "The Aurors haven't found any other clues, or . . ."

"The only other thing they've found," said Mr. Weasley, whose face changed to a look of confusion. "The only thing to have survived the fire unharmed . . . was Harry's old Invisibility Cloak."

"Harry's cloak?" said George.

"Luckily, it was found by someone from the Order and they took it before anyone else could see it."

"But how did it get there?" George continued. "Wasn't it with the rest of Harry's old stuff up the attic?"

"I thought so," said Mr. Weasley. "We should check up there, just to be sure."

"What did you tell Kingsley about what happened here?" asked Percy.

"Not much. Only that Hermione had made her way here, and that she was badly wounded."

"You didn't mention the Death Eater disguised as Harry?" asked Charlie.

Mr. Weasley paused before answering.

"I can't put my finger on it, but I believe there is much more going on here than we realize. I mean . . . Hermione's home is attacked right after she leaves here with James? It's as if someone had been waiting for them . . . or someone knew they had left."

"Arthur," said Mrs. Weasley. "You don't think . . . the spy . . .?"

"I don't know _what_ to think, Molly. But until we find out what happened, I'd like to keep the details between us. With the others at Shell Cottage today, it's just family here now, and I know I can trust each one of you."

"Won't Dean, Seamus, and the others wonder what's going on when we tell them they can't come back tonight?" asked George.

"Well," said Mr. Weasley, "We'll think of some explanation. In the meantime, let's just focus on –"

A weak, dry cough drew everyone's attention.

"Hermione!" yelled Ron.

"Wait," commanded Madame Pomfrey, who held a hand out toward Ron. "Give her a moment."

Hermione gave another small cough, followed by a low moan. Her body shifted slightly but she remained fairly still, her arms by her sides. Madame Pomfrey waved her wand in several intricate patterns and bandages sprang forth from thin air to wrap around Hermione's legs, arms, and everywhere else except her head. The matron then pulled a thin, white bed sheet up over Hermione's body to her shoulders.

"I've done just about all that I can for her at the moment," she said in quiet voice. "The bruises and broken bones should heal by nightfall, but her burns . . . are going to take more work. I have already administered several potions for pain, but I'm afraid that, due to the extent of her injuries, she will still feel some discomfort." Madame Pomfrey let out a deep breath that she seemed to have held since she arrived. "If it were at all possible, I'd say that she should be moved to the intensive care ward at St. Mungo's immediately."

"You've done an amazing job, Poppy," said Mrs. Weasley with tears in her eyes. "I don't know what we'd have done without you."

"Nnn," grunted Hermione, whose scrunched face showed its first signs of pain.

"I-It's okay, 'Mione," whispered Ron, who knelt next to Hermione's pillow. Ginny swallowed thickly as Ron forced a smile onto his tear-glazed face. "You're gonna be all right; Madame Pomfrey fixed you up." Ron reached out a hand but couldn't decide on a place to touch her that would not cause her more pain. "Can you hear me, Hermione? I'm right here . . ."

Hermione's breathing sped and her eyes flew wide. Her intense gaze fell first upon Madame Pomfrey, who leaned over the bed slightly to scrutinize her patient. Hermione then looked around the room from face to face, moving her head only slightly, before finding Ron at her side. She stared at him for several seconds and then her eyes softened and filled with tears.

Next to Ginny, Fleur wiped her cheeks and whispered "Dieu merci."

Staring into Hermione's eyes, Ron let slip several shuddering sobs. A bandaged hand slowly slid from beneath Hermione's bed sheet and offered itself to him. Ron took it very carefully, watching Hermione's face closely for any sign that the touch had triggered more pain, but she simply stared at him as her tears continued to soak the pillow beneath her cheek.

"C'mon," whispered George, who had leaned close to Ginny and put a hand on her shoulder.

Pulling her eyes from Ron and Hermione, Ginny noticed that her mother and father had already removed themselves from the bedside area and were headed her way. As they passed, Ginny and George turned to follow them.

"Miss Granger?"

Ginny looked back to see Kreacher approaching the bed. Hermione's eyes flickered to him.

"Kreacher is very glad that you are alive, Miss, and he would be happy to assist you in any way." The elf bowed deeply. "Master Harry asked Kreacher to help Miss Granger if . . . if he . . ."

Hermione closed her eyes and drew in a deep, shaky breath. What followed appeared to be a convulsive kind of cough, although Ginny suspected that the shudders were actually sobs. So grievous were Hermione's injuries that she couldn't even cry properly.

"Miss . . .?" Kreacher timidly asked.

"Please step back for a moment," said Madame Pomfrey, who gestured Kreacher aside and stepped in front of Ron. She, along with all the others, had reentered the room. The matron gently lifted her patient into a reclined sitting position, but Hermione continued to slowly writhe while she silently wept.

Without consciously intending to, Ginny stepped toward the bed. She had a growing suspicion that she was missing something very important.

"Hermione . . ."

Hermione's body stilled as she met Ginny's gaze.

"Kreacher," Ginny continued, "speaks of Harry . . . as if he had only just died."

Hermione's eyes showed no surprise. Ginny felt her heartbeat quicken.

"The letter you sent . . . it said that you've kept a secret from Ron . . ."

Hermione remained motionless against the pillows that Madame Pomfrey had placed behind her back.

"A wizard fought alongside you at your house . . . he had dark hair . . ."

Ginny surprised even herself with the direction her thoughts had taken. Her breaths came short and fast. Hermione's eyes remained unchanged – what did that mean?

"And Harry's Invisibility Cloak was found at your house . . ."

Everyone around the room stood staring at the two girls, who looked only at each other.

Finally, Hermione closed her eyes and new tears began to leak down her cheeks.

Ginny's pulse pounded in her ears. What did Hermione's reaction mean? Why hadn't she given Ginny some indication that what she proposed was impossible? Ridiculous?

"H-Hermione . . ."

Ginny felt her own tears trickle down. She was shaking now. Slowly, Hermione reopened her eyes and looked at Ginny once more. Ginny held her breath and waited for a nod or shake of the head, any kind of sign . . .

From the corner of her eye, she saw Kreacher suddenly look up as if he had sensed something no one else had . . . and then Ginny was pierced by a terrible scream.

"W-What was – where did that come from?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

"Somewhere downstairs," said George.

Another scream shredded the air, this one louder and more terrible than the first.

"It came . . . from outside," said Ginny, who stared at the window she had opened earlier. She went to it and leaned across the windowsill to look over the backyard and the orchard in the distance. She felt others crowd around her.

A third scream rang out so loud and clear that it made Ginny jump.

"I-It came from James's tent," she said, pointing. "Down there . . ."

"But," said Charlie, whose face had paled. "That's . . . where I put the body . . ."

Another frantic heartbeat, another tortured scream, and Ginny was gone. Pushing past those around her, she flew from the room and darted down the stairs. She could hear others stomping down behind her, but did not look back as she tore through the house and out the back door.

The screaming was deafening as she jumped down the porch steps to the backyard. She had never heard anything like it, even from the students she had seen placed under the Cruciatus Curse during her last horrific half-year at Hogwarts.

Ginny intersected Bill, who ran toward the commotion from around the side of the house where he had been working on the wards, but she reached the open tent flap first . . . and froze.

There, on the camp bed, lay a figure in unimaginable agony. He was flat on his back and his body arched upward as his screams became hoarse and somehow less human. His eyes were clenched closed.

"But . . . he was dead," came Charlie's voice from the crowd that had formed around Ginny. "He didn't have a pulse!"

Ginny had no words. The sight of Harry – real or not – in such torment stabbed into her again and again, ripping open all of her old wounds. It was as if all her nightmares had come together to form a single savage image.

"Let me pass," called Madame Pomfrey, and Ginny was bumped aside as the woman pushed through the gathering and entered the tent.

"Wait," called Charlie. "He could be dangerous!"

But Madame Pomfrey ignored his warning and approached the camp bed as if she were attending to a patient. Everyone watched in stunned silence as she cast several spells, but none seemed to have any effect on the howling, shaking boy.

"Master!" yelled Kreacher, who scampered forward to try his own magic, which failed before Madame Pomfrey could object.

Without any thought or plan, Ginny took a step into the tent but was immediately grabbed by several surrounding members of her family. She did not resist as they held her in place.

The screaming finally stopped as abruptly as it had started, and the figure stilled. Harry's face looked peaceful as the boy's head settled on its side, no longer turning and thrashing. He appeared to be sleeping.

Madame Pomfrey wove another series of spells and then inspected the body up close, looking under lifted eyelids and putting her fingers to his wrist. When she suddenly made a sharp turn toward the gathered onlookers, many of them took a startled step backward.

"His pulse and breathing are normal," said the matron. "And I don't detect any hidden curses. Two of you lift him carefully and carry him up to the empty bed beside Miss Granger – that way I can care for both of my patients at once."

"What?" said Charlie. "That bastard tried to kill us – he damn near killed Hermione!"

Mr. Weasley held up a hand to silence his son.

"Poppy," he said. "Are you quite sure that he doesn't pose any threat at all?"

"Not in this state," she said, with a glance at the now inert body. "We should restrain him, of course, in case he comes to."

Mr. Weasley stared at the boy on the cot for several moments while Charlie and his other sons looked to him to make the decision. Was it Ginny's imagination, or did her father look at the boy with the same gleam of impossible hope in his eye?

"Bill, Charlie, take him up to Ginny's room. Poppy, please let us know if there's anything more we can do to help."

"Thank you, Arthur."

Bill and Charlie looked strangely at their father and then at each other, but did not protest as they followed their instructions. As the group made its way back inside the house, Ginny hurried over to walk beside Madame Pomfrey.

"S-Should he still look like Harry?" she asked. "I mean, would Polyjuice Potion still work after . . . all of that?"

"I don't know, dear, but I plan to learn as much about him as I can."

As they crossed the sitting room, Ginny noticed the flask that had been found on the boy lying among the debris. On impulse, she picked it up and carried it with her up the stairs.

Hermione watched intently as the boy was carried into the room and placed onto Ginny's bed. She looked, if possible, even more devastated than before.

"What are you bringing _him_ in here for?" demanded Ron. Only he, Fleur, and Victoire had remained in the room with Hermione.

"The bugger's still alive," said Bill.

There was a gurgled cry and every head turned toward Hermione, who frantically tried to push herself up to a full sitting position. She wore a wild, desperate look as she grunted at the pain her movements were causing.

"Hermione, stop!" said Ron. "It's okay; he won't hurt you! I promise!"

But Hermione, with her first full shriek of pain, flung herself over the edge of the bed and would have fallen to the floor if Ron hadn't caught her in his arms.

"Hermione!" he yelled again.

Straightening up as Ron pulled one of her arms around his shoulders, Hermione weakly tried to take a step but could only manage to maintain a standing position as Ron held her up. She looked almost longingly at the figure on Ginny's bed, silently examining it as her breath came in rapid rasps.

Madame Pomfrey and Mrs. Weasley joined Ron and, together, they carefully lowered Hermione back into bed. Hermione again gasped and grunted in pain as they moved her, and then she began to weep. When she was once again tucked neatly under her sheet, Hermione returned her teary eyes to the opposite bed.

Contrary to Ron's assumption, it looked very much to Ginny like Hermione was relieved to see the boy breathing again. Ginny began to feel dizzy, lightheaded. The thing in the pit of her stomach began to thrash and churn . . .

"Everything is all right now, Miss," said Kreacher. The house-elf approached Hermione's bed with a grin on his face. "Master Harry has come back. Kreacher does not know how – he felt his master leave him – but Kreacher can sense it: he is bound to his master once again."

And then, with the smallest fraction of a smile, Hermione turned Ginny's world upside-down.

Ginny looked from one bed to the other, then her gaze drifted around the room aimlessly as she tried to manage the whirring mix of thoughts and feelings that assaulted her. Her eyes drifted to the flask in her hand and she idly twisted off the cap, peered inside, and shook it.

"T-There's . . . still a little Polyjuice left in here," she said, distractedly. George snatched the flask from her hand and shook its remaining drops into his mouth. He wore a blazing expression that told Ginny he, too, was desperate for answers.

"George, no!" shouted Mr. Weasley, who dashed forward too late. "You don't know –"

Instantly, George began to change. His red hair lightened to blonde; his body thinned. Before everyone's eyes, his features shifted into a very familiar image. His family gaped at him in utter shock.

"What?" said George. "Who do I look like?"

"Y-You're," stuttered Ron. "You're _James_ . . ."

Ginny stumbled away from George as the drops of potion immediately wore off. Her eyes darted to Hermione, who she found giving her a sad, sympathetic look, and the room began to spin. She teetered to the doorframe, leaned her head into the landing, and vomited.

Mrs. Weasley rushed to her daughter's side as Ginny continued to heave. Most of the others remained still and seemingly a step behind the place that Ginny's thoughts had taken her – only George appeared to have kept up.

"Impossible," he whispered. He stared at the boy on Ginny's bed with wide eyes. "S-Someone should . . . check his grave . . ."

Ginny heard a raspy intake of breath and looked back into the room to see Hermione attempt her first words.

"I-It's . . . emp . . . tee," she said in a hoarse whisper, punctuated by coughs. "H-Hrrry . . . was n-never . . . in it." Tears poured down her marred face. She looked away toward the other bed, careful to avoid Ron's eyes.

Ginny followed Hermione's gaze and stared at the boy as if seeing him for the first time. She felt an overpowering surge of emotion – was it excitement? Panic? Horror? She could not tell, but its potential force was devastating.

Harry could not be lying there, alive, in her bed. It was impossible.

_Impossible_.

"Hermione," pleaded Mr. Weasley in a soft tone. His face was paper white. "We . . . you and I . . . found Harry's body. It was _him_."

"It was . . . a t-trick," said Hermione. She closed her eyes and raised a trembling hand to her forehead. "Y-you brrried . . . the w-wrong b-body."

Hermione's revelation was met with shouts of disbelief from some and murmured exclamations from others. Meanwhile, Madame Pomfrey – who had momentarily been swept up in the unfolding drama – stepped forward and began to examine her new patient. But despite her apparent cool demeanor, Ginny noticed the matron's hands shake as she cast her spells.

Ginny stood at the edge of a cliff. Behind her was the safe, albeit sorrowful existence she had learned to endure – at her feet, a great chasm of the unknown. Should she jump? Ginny knew that if she took that chance and found this to be a mistake, a ruse, or some kind of cruel joke, the fall could kill her.

"Hermione," said Ron, in a suddenly sympathetic tone. "You've been through too much; you don't know what you're saying." He swallowed and wiped at his eyes. "Harry died during the battle at Hogwarts."

"N-No," said Hermione with a cough. She clenched her eyes in frustration as she rubbed at her throat. "He was c-cap . . . tured . . . k-kept in the Ch-Chamber . . . of S-Secrets . . . for a y-year."

Ginny heaved again, but her stomach was empty. At her side, Mrs. Weasley was so stunned that she did not seem to notice.

Mr. Weasley staggered forward to join Madame Pomfrey beside the boy. Ginny felt a strong pull toward the bed but stayed in place, terrified to take a step. Ron simply stared at Hermione with a face frozen in disbelief.

Madame Pomfrey, continuing her examination, banished the boy's torn shirt with a quick spell. Had Ginny not already been shocked to the fullest extent possible, she would have gasped.

The boy – despite the evidence, she still could not acknowledge him as "Harry" – was covered in scars of every shape and size. The marks were faint as if they had healed long ago, but still stood out, crisscrossing his arms and torso. And now that Ginny really looked at him, the boy appeared slightly older and was more fit than Harry had been.

"What _happened_ to him?" said Bill, who seemed to speak for all of the stunned faces in the room.

"T-Tortured," grunted Hermione, who suddenly appeared unable to look at the boy.

"His . . . neck," muttered Ginny, who stared at the largest and most visible scar.

"I-It was the Horcrux – the locket," said Ron, who had risen to his feet to stare at the scarred skin. "It tried to strangle him before I . . . before I pulled it off . . ." For the first time, Ron looked as if he might believe that it was his best friend who lay before him.

A tear splashed onto the bare chest as Mr. Weasley stared down at the boy he thought of as a seventh son. With a look of dawning comprehension, he became the first to say what Ginny was struggling to accept.

"H-Harry . . ."

The name unlocked Ginny's feet, and her legs quivered as they carried her – step by shaky step – to join her father at bedside. Would she know the real Harry if she saw him up close; if she touched him? She took a deep breath, stopped beside his hand, and stretched her fingers out toward it . . .

It felt warm and rough. Her small hand fit perfectly inside his, just as it always had.

Ginny lurched over and spluttered out her held breath. She tightened her grip and the joined hands trembled as she started to sob. Her father's arm wrapped around her as she gazed in awe at the miracle that rested on her bed. Then Ginny felt more arms – her mother's – pull her into a close embrace. Ginny wept against her mother's shoulder while keeping her eyes on Harry's face and her hand inside his.

She soaked in his every detail, from his peaceful face to his countless scars. Had Harry really been locked inside the Chamber of Secrets? Ginny felt sick at the idea, and thought for a second that she might retch again. That place had been her own personal hell, and it still haunted her. To think that he had been forced to return there . . . _live_ there . . .

And how had Harry come back from her Killing Curse? She had been certain he was dead. The realization that Harry almost died by her hand tore at Ginny's insides and made her wince in physical pain. Had she damaged him somehow? Would he recover?

"W-What . . . did I d-do?" she said with hiccupping breaths. "What d-did I do to h-him?"

"Not your f-fault," said Hermione, struggling to form the words.

Many more thoughts began to rush through Ginny's head: why had Harry disguised himself as James? Did "James" really even exist? Why hadn't Harry just told them – told _her_ – the truth? They had lived in the same house, played Quidditch, and faced the Dementors together. Why would Harry have hidden from someone he cared about? Unless . . . he _didn't_ care . . .

Ginny heard Ron speak words of comfort to Hermione in a soft, low voice. How could he be so calm? Ginny felt a storm of emotions churning inside her; she felt like crying, laughing, and screaming all at once.

Ginny pulled away from her parents to kneel beside the bed. She gripped Harry's hand in both of hers and continued to weep for several minutes before she regained rational thought. She didn't know exactly why she was crying, just that it was all too much. Amid the various thoughts that fought for her attention, one in particular pushed forward.

"H-Hermione, how . . . how long have you known?"

"Ginny," cautioned Ron. "She's said enough. Let her rest."

"S-Since Hog . . . warts," stuttered Hermione. "He es . . . escaped w-while the . . . wards were d-down." Hermione paused to clear her throat, and when she resumed, she spoke a little more clearly by lowering her voice to nearly a whisper.

"Harry got me out of there . . . saved m-my life. He saved yours, t-too, Ron . . . although you n-never saw h-him."

"He was here, all this time," Ginny pondered aloud. The thought hurt somehow, and it sunk in for a few moments until her emotional storm shifted and something erupted unexpectedly inside her.

"You _lied_ to me," she said, turning toward Hermione's bed. "How could you look me in the face every day . . . and lie about _this_?"

"That's enough!" scolded Ron, rising to his feet.

But Ginny – her joy buckling under confusion, fright, and hurt – was losing control. Her pain poured out as anger, and in her rage, Hermione's burned and bandaged form only made the girl seem weak and useless, apparently as unable to protect Harry as she had been to care for Ron when he needed her the most.

"Ginny, dear," soothed Mrs. Weasley. She and Mr. Weasley each placed a steadying hand on their daughter, but Ginny shook them off.

"HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?" she bellowed.

"DON'T BLAME _HER_!" Ron spat back. "_Harry_ was the one who hid from us! Trying to take on Voldemort all by himself just like before, not trusting us to help – he hasn't changed at all!"

Had Ginny not remembered her brother's grief for Harry – that he had blamed himself for failing to protect his friend and prevent his presumed death – she would have attacked him. But even through the fog of her panic-driven anger, she could see in his wild eyes how much Harry had hurt Ron by not giving him the chance to atone for his past mistake.

Brother and sister stood between the two beds, staring each other down for several long moments before Madame Pomfrey broke the tension.

"Please – patients are being treated here. If you cannot control yourselves then you'll have to leave."

Ginny looked at the matron and then at the concerned faces of her family. The fight in her faded instantly, and she turned around and slumped back to her knees beside Harry.

"I'm s-sorry," choked Hermione. Ginny did not look at her, but could somehow sense that she was talking to Ron. "I w-wanted to tell you; I was g-going to tell you." She was sobbing now. "Please don't l-leave me," she begged. "You're all I have l-left . . ."

Ron shushed Hermione and Ginny pictured him leaning over the bed to hold her. Of course he would forgive her. In Ron's eyes Hermione could never do any wrong.

But this thought annoyed Ginny only slightly as she stared at Harry's sleeping face. While she watched him, more questions rose inside her. And although a part of her was desperate to discover the answers, another part did not care. For the moment, it was enough that he was back.

But was he? Ginny understood almost nothing of what had happened – his screams, his apparent death . . . When would he wake up?

The room remained quiet as Madame Pomfrey administered a new round of potions to Hermione and then continued her examination of Harry. She was unable to give Ginny any answers, however, and as Ginny remained at Harry's side, the minutes stretched into hours.

* * *

The clock by Ginny's bed read 3:14 am. The room was dark and silent, save for Ron's soft snores. He rested in a chair at Hermione's bedside, just as Ginny sat in a chair next to Harry. Neither visitor had left their patient for anything other than bathroom breaks; Mrs. Weasley had brought them dinner. Ginny's plate sat untouched on her nightstand.

Others had visited, too, popping in and out for Ginny's regular update of "nothing's changed." Madame Pomfrey had been put up in George's old room for the night, which was free since Dean, Seamus and the Burrow's other guests had been asked to stay at Shell Cottage. Ginny did not know what story they had been told; she hadn't cared to ask.

She sat hunched over Harry's bed – _her_ bed – with her folded arms on top of it, propping up her head. As Ginny stared at him for hours at a time without looking away, her various emotions had continued to surge up and down until they burnt out, leaving her drained and docile. While a million thoughts fought for second place inside her head, they were all pushed back by her prime concern: to see Harry open his eyes. If she could just look into his eyes and hear his voice, she was convinced that the rest would somehow work itself out.

Hermione gave a quiet cough and tried to clear her throat – Ginny had not known the girl was awake. As the coughs continued it became clear that Hermione was having trouble.

For the first time in hours, Ginny sat upright and stood from her chair, grimacing at what her sedentary position had done to various parts of her body. She stepped softly to the table by Hermione's bed and picked up a glass of water Ron had placed there.

"Here," whispered Ginny, and she tipped the glass to Hermione's lips. With a sideways look at her helper, Hermione thirstily drank the remaining half of the glass's contents.

"Thanks," she breathed. Hermione still sounded hoarse, but Madame Pomfrey's continued potions and Ron's dutiful delivery of constant hydration had steadied her voice.

It was an awkward moment; the two girls had not spoken since Ginny's earlier outburst. Ginny looked into Hermione's face and saw that, more so than her burns, Hermione's eyes made her unrecognizable. With Ginny's previous alarm and anger having subsided, she looked at her friend with clear eyes and felt the weight of what Hermione had been through.

"I'm s-sorry, Hermione," choked Ginny through sudden tears. She looked away from Hermione's eyes, ashamed of her earlier actions. "God, I'm s-so sorry . . . about your p-parents . . ."

Ginny heard the muffled noise of Hermione's head shifting on her pillow, and sensed that she had looked away, too.

"I can't i-imagine . . ."

"Stop," said Hermione, in her quietest voice. Ginny went silent, save for her stuttering breaths, and looked at the girl, who stared blankly at the far wall.

"Please," Hermione went on. "I . . . I can't think about that right now . . ."

She seemed numb, detached. It worried Ginny that Hermione appeared to be walling off her emotions, just as she had done after discovering what she once believed to be Harry's dead body. Hermione's eventual breakdown had sent her into a yearlong exile.

"The important thing," whispered Hermione, "is that Harry is still alive. I have to – _we_ have to – do everything we can for him."

Hermione turned to look at Ginny once again, who nodded. But Ginny made a promise to herself that, when Hermione was ready to deal with what had happened to her and her parents, she would be there to help her.

Ginny wiped her cheeks and gave an exhausted sigh.

"Harry will wake up when he's ready," said Hermione. "You should try to get some sleep, Ginny."

"I'm fine," Ginny lied.

"Of course you're not," Hermione said tenderly. "How could you be?"

Ginny met her friend's sympathetic stare and was reminded of the first night they had spent together in that room upon Hermione's return. Ginny had yelled at her then, too, before inadvertently spilling her heart out about Harry.

Ginny rubbed her hands across her face and gave a soft, sad chuckle.

"I thought I was finally done waiting for him," she said, and then returned to Harry and sat in her chair.

"He . . . he wanted to tell you," said Hermione.

"Well," Ginny shrugged, "I was right here."

"It's . . . complicated, Ginny. He . . . Harry –"

"I doesn't matter right now – his reasons, his . . . whatever. I just want him to come back from wherever he is."

There was a long pause.

"Ginny . . . he loves you." Hermione's voice was pleading. "He tried so hard not to hurt you . . ."

"He always tries," said Ginny. "But this – whatever he's been doing – doesn't seem like love, Hermione." Ginny sniffled as she came close to the heart of what was hurting her the most. It was the same dark thought that had held onto her for years, since the day she and Harry got together: that he had never felt for her what she did for him. While she had initially dismissed her worries as insecurity – a holdover from the years Harry had ignored her – the feeling had grown like a cancer when Harry went away and left her alone.

"He _does_ love you," Hermione protested in an impassioned whisper. "So much. But you don't have to believe _me_ – you saw his Patronus . . . remember?"

And with a sudden jolt of understanding, Ginny _did_ remember. She had seen Harry – "James" – conjure a herd of shining silver horses, each a perfect match for her own Patronus. She stared with wide, watery eyes at Harry's sleeping face, and cupped a hand over her mouth to cover a sob.

"Ginny . . . just hear him out, all right? When he wakes up?"

Ginny had no words, so she simply nodded her head. Could Harry truly love her? The possibility lit a spark inside her, and as her tears continued to flow, Ginny felt the wound within her chest heal just a little.

* * *

Morning came and the house was soon filled with slow, shuffling, sleep-deprived people who were equally exhausted emotionally. Ron awoke when the first of the morning's visitors arrived; everyone went straight from their bed to Ginny's room to see how Harry and Hermione had fared overnight. After Madame Pomfrey failed to provide any further clues as to what might be wrong with Harry, Mrs. Weasley managed to pull Ginny from the room long enough to eat a small breakfast. At Ron's request, his family sat around the kitchen table while he carried a tray up to share with Hermione in private.

"I'm worried about him," whispered George, who sat next to Ginny as she picked at her eggs.

Ginny did not look up. "Ron seems to be doing better than most of us," she said.

"Yeah," sighed George. "That's what worries me. That's his girlfriend and best mate up there; he's got more of a reason than anyone to go a bit mental after everything that's happened."

Ginny shrugged.

"Hey," said George in a softer tone. "How are _you_ holding up, Gin?"

Ginny shrugged again, then dropped her fork to her plate and held her face in her hands. George said nothing, but rubbed her back consolingly.

"Is the breakfast not to Miss Weasley's liking?" croaked Kreacher from beside Ginny's lap. The only way to keep him from staying with Harry and Hermione through the night had been for Mrs. Weasley to convince the house-elf that his master would want him to help everyone else. Ginny could tell that her mother did not need, want, or appreciate a helper shadowing her every move, but Ginny had been grateful to be left alone with Harry.

"Breakfast is fine, Kreacher. Thank you."

The elf gave her an understanding smile that looked odd on his usually sour face.

"Don't worry, Miss – Master Harry will be up and about soon."

Since when had Kreacher been the cheerful, optimistic one? Ginny remembered how much he had once hated Harry, and how Harry had despised him in return.

Harry . . .

Ginny suddenly felt like she had been away from him for hours, not minutes, and planted her feet firmly on the floor to push her chair back. She stilled, however, when her father spoke from the head of the table.

"Poppy, do you think that . . . something could be wrong with Harry's mind? I mean, well . . . he appears to be all right physically, doesn't he? Could whatever he went through – seemingly dying and then somehow coming back – have . . . have left him . . ."

"It's possible," said Madame Pomfrey. "While it isn't uncommon for certain types of injuries or illnesses to require extra sleep – some patients don't regain consciousness for days – I am troubled by the fact that I cannot determine _why_ he hasn't woken up. His physical injuries were nothing major; I've already treated them. He won't even respond to _Rennervate_."

Madame Pomfrey looked flustered. Ginny could tell that she was not used to failing her patients, and that it bothered her greatly.

The matron sighed.

"Again, if only it were safe to take him to St. Mungo's. Normally in a situation like this, we might arrange for an examination by a Legilimens who could look for any potential problems within the mind – brain injuries, spell damage; things of that sort."

"They do that?" asked Bill, who was helping Fleur feed a wriggling Victoire.

"The treatment of mental injuries is one of the few sanctioned uses for that branch of magic," explained Percy.

Ginny could no longer stomach a discussion about whether or not Harry might be a vegetable when, or if, he woke up. Without a glance at anyone, she stood and trudged up the stairs to her room. When she entered, she found Ron holding a forkful of eggs out to Hermione, who was unable to grip her own utensil due to the mitten-like rolls of bandages on her hands. Noticing Ginny, Hermione paused before taking a bite.

"Any news?" she asked. "Does anyone have any ideas on how to help Harry?"

"No, we've still got nothing," Ginny sighed. "Well, unless either of you know someone who can do Legilimency," she added, shrugging.

Hermione stilled and cast her eyes about the room as if deep in thought.

"I do," she said simply.

Ginny turned toward her.

"What?" asked Ron. "Who? Nobody in the Order can read minds . . ."

"Not . . . in the Order," Hermione said. Ginny noticed the hesitation in her voice.

"Harry has a contact at Hogwarts who has been passing him information – he's a Legilimens. Kreacher brought him to a field to meet with Harry using the house-elf equivalent of side-along Apparition, which can still pass through the school wards."

"Who is it?" said Ginny.

Hermione stared at her for a heartbeat before answering.

"Lucius Malfoy."

* * *

"No. Absolutely not."

"Dad, it's our only option."

"Ginny, listen to me," said Mr. Weasley, who looked sympathetically but sternly into his daughter's eyes. The room was packed again, and everyone around them listened with rapt attention. "I want to help Harry, too – I'll do whatever it takes – but we can't bring a Death Eater into our home. It's one of the few places left where we're safe."

Over his shoulder, Ginny saw Bill and Charlie standing across the room with their arms folded, practically nodding along with their father's words. Ginny knew that her mother would never allow Lucius Malfoy to step foot inside the Burrow, either. Not only was he an enemy, but the Malfoys had always held a personal grudge against the Weasleys. And no one – least of all Ginny – had forgotten that it was Lucius who had given her Tom Riddle's diary.

"Mr. Weasley," said Hermione, who was the only one on Ginny's side. "I understand the risk, but from what Harry told me, Lucius has changed. As I said, he's _helped_ Harry."

Ginny knew that Hermione had her own reasons to hate and mistrust Lucius Malfoy – she had been tortured inside _his_ house, under _his_ supervision. Her determination to contact him despite their past history made Ginny confident that it was the correct course of action.

"Hermione," said Mr. Weasley, his voice softening. "How can we be sure that he won't report right back to Voldemort?"

"Because V-Voldemort," stuttered Hermione, showing the courage to speak the name again at last, "murdered his son." She held Mr. Weasley's surprised gaze as the room sat stunned. "Voldemort killed Draco in front of Lucius and his wife – mutilated him for failing to join the Death Eaters during the battle at Hogwarts. It was Draco's body that we found, altered somehow to look like Harry."

Hermione and Mr. Weasley stared at each other, and Ginny could sense the heavy meaning that the news held for the two people who had discovered Harry's presumed corpse.

"Lucius no longer holds any power," Hermione continued. "His wand was taken away and he was demoted to Harry's caretaker – it was his job to look after Harry in the Chamber, to bring him his meals. After Harry escaped, he gave Lucius his son back. In return, Lucius has passed Harry information about the goings on at Hogwarts."

This new information about Harry's hidden life and his time spent locked inside the Chamber of Secrets took Ginny by surprise. She shook free of the grim thoughts, however – she had to stay focused on what needed to be done next.

Mr. Weasley turned, began to slowly pace around the room, and removed his glasses to rub his face. No one interrupted his thoughts. Finally, he stopped by Harry's bedside, returned his glasses, and gazed down at the boy on the bed.

"Kreacher," he called, exhaling a deep breath.

"Yes, sir?"

"How long do you think it would take to find Lucius Malfoy at Hogwarts . . . and bring him here?"

"Not long, sir. Mr. Malfoy should be helping Mr. Filch with his morning rounds. If he can help Master Harry, Kreacher will have him here within the hour."

Mr. Weasley looked away from the elf in contemplation for several moments and then made his decision.

"Do it," he sighed.

"Right away, sir."

"Be sure to Disapparate from beyond the front yard," Mr. Weasley added. Kreacher nodded as he ran off. A moment later, Ginny heard the front door open and shut downstairs. The room was silent, the mood unsure.

"Bill, Charlie – everyone," said Mr. Weasley, who turned from Harry's bed to address his family. "When Lucius gets here, I want him surrounded at all times. He walks a straight line from the front door to this room and doesn't go anywhere else – understood?" Ginny's brothers sounded their agreement and seemed somewhat reassured that their father was taking the matter so seriously. "And watch your wands; we don't want to give him a weapon."

"I'm going to check over the wards one more time before he gets here," said Bill. "Just to be sure." At his father's nod, Bill exited the room, joined by Charlie. Others left as well, presumably to prepare for their Death Eater guest in other ways. Mr. Weasley, however, remained.

Ginny retook her seat by Harry and held his hand. She hoped with all her heart that Lucius Malfoy, the man who had taken so much from her, could give something back. Her father joined her at Harry's bedside while Ron comforted Hermione, and the four of them waited in silence for the Dark Wizard they were gambling their lives on.

Eventually, Ginny heard the front door open and many footsteps shuffle through. She strained to hear low, muffled voices but could only discern that they were coming closer, rising up the stairway outside her room. On instinct, Ginny stood protectively between Harry and the door. She drew her wand, and her father and brother copied her.

Lucius Malfoy entered the room wearing dirty, ragged robes. The haughty, superior demeanor that Ginny associated with him had eroded into an expression of common dislike. Despite Hermione's claims that he had helped Harry, it was very clear that Lucius did not enjoy visiting Arthur Weasley's home any more than her father liked having him there.

The rest of Ginny's brothers surrounded Lucius, each with a wand aimed at their guest. Kreacher and Madame Pomfrey were the only ones who weren't poised to hex Malfoy at the first sign of trouble. The matron moved around the group to stand next to Ginny at Harry's bedside. Ginny guessed that her mother and Fleur had remained downstairs to keep Victoire away from any possible danger. Bill, the Burrow's Secret Keeper, gestured Lucius through the doorway.

"Lucius," said Mr. Weasley, curtly.

Malfoy did not acknowledge the greeting. With a disgusted look on his face, he glanced around the room as if he were surveying something repulsive. Ginny shivered when he met her eyes, but simultaneously felt a fire of defiance ignite within her and did not shrink from his gaze. Finally, his eyes flickered away and then widened when they spotted the boy on the bed behind her.

"Is he dead?" asked Lucius, matter-of-factly.

"_No_," snapped Ginny, as if it were unforgivable to even suggest the possibility.

"As best I can tell," said Madame Pomfrey, "he suffers no serious physical injuries. However, I have not been able to revive him and am at a loss to explain why. What we need for further diagnosis . . . is a Legilimens."

Everyone seemed to hold their breath while they gave Malfoy a moment to realize the reason he had been summoned. Almost immediately, a wry smile crept onto his face. Ginny felt a strong urge to knock it off.

"So this is why you sent for me," he sneered. "Of course, none of your 'Order' – who so ignorantly deny the value of the Dark Arts – would be well versed in such a controversial branch of magic."

No one rose to the insult. Despite the hatred she felt for Malfoy, Ginny knew that arguing with him would not help Harry. Hermione spoke next, with a calm voice that signaled she was much more in command of her emotions than Ginny was.

"Harry told me all about his dealings with you," she said. As Lucius turned his head toward her, Ron gripped his wand tighter and pointed it between Malfoy's eyes. "You've helped him for months. You kept him healthy in the Chamber and even spied for him. And . . . and I know why." Lucius's eyes flared at her in warning. "Draco wanted you to help Harry . . . for as long as he kept fighting."

Malfoy's lips pressed into a thin line at Hermione's reminder of the promise he had made to his son. While his gaze continued to scorch the heavily bandaged girl, Mr. Weasley took a step closer to his longtime rival and lowered his wand.

"We've never seen eye to eye, Lucius. But as one father to another, I am asking you for this . . . favor. I think of Harry as my son, and I will do whatever it takes to get him the help he needs."

"Spare me your sentimental prattle," scoffed Lucius. He then set his glare on Percy and Charlie, who stood directly before him. "Move," he ordered, and shoved his way past them. "I don't want to stay in this shack any longer than I have to."

He huffed over to Harry, felt the boy's wrist for a pulse, and checked under his eyelids. It took all of Ginny's dwindling control not to push Lucius away when he touched Harry, who seemed so defenseless in the presence of a known enemy. She was reminded vividly of the time the two of them faced each other in the Department of Mysteries. Thankfully, Malfoy quickly finished his cursory examination and sat down in Ginny's chair.

"I'll need a wand," he sighed, in a tone that chided everyone for ignoring the obvious. Of course he would need a wand to perform magic, but at that moment, no one seemed willing to accept the fact and give him one.

"Use mine," said Ginny, and she held it out to him. Lucius met her piercing stare as he took it, and the wand arm of every Weasley in the room stiffened in his direction.

"Careful with that, Malfoy," growled Bill.

Lucius rolled his eyes as he leaned in close to Harry's face.

"_Legilimens_!"

Ginny could hear her pulse pound inside her head as she waited for some sign that Lucius had made a connection. At first he stared intently at Harry's blank face, and then closed his eyes in concentration. When that appeared not to work, Malfoy stood and pulled open Harry's eyelids to stare at him just inches from his face. Ginny had to once again force herself not to interfere.

Finally, Lucius fell back into his chair, lowered Ginny's wand to his lap, and sighed.

"It's pointless," he said.

"What?" said Ginny, outraged. After pinning all her hopes on the man to somehow save Harry, how could he simply give up in under a minute? But before she could unleash the fury and panic that was building within her, Madame Pomfrey stepped in.

"What do you mean? Can't you tell what the problem is?"

Lucius sighed again and shook his head as if he were being forced to explain something that even a child should know. Over his shoulder, Ginny caught a glimpse of Mr. Weasley's expression – if Ginny didn't break down and hit Malfoy soon, it looked as if her father would beat her to it.

"With Legilimency," Lucius said slowly, as if speaking to people whose brains had been addled, "it is important to maintain eye contact. While that is not always essential for an especially skilled Legilimens such as myself, the bigger concern is that it is only possible to enter a conscious mind."

"But," countered Madame Pomfrey, "Legilimency has been used to diagnose unresponsive patients before . . ."

"Yes," groaned Malfoy, "but in those types of cases there is still a kind of consciousness – that is to say, a dormant _self_ – that can be located and examined, even when a patient is asleep. But I can find no trace of such a thing inside the boy's mind."

The words hit Ginny like a physical blow. She knew nothing about Legilimency or the inner workings of the mind, but understood that something was terribly wrong.

"What are you saying?" asked Mr. Weasley. "That Harry isn't . . . _in_ there?"

"I cannot explain it," shrugged Lucius. "This is something I have never encountered. I could enter only his subconscious, a shapeless sea of thoughts and memories with no structure to hold them together. Because we are two extremely different people who share very few memories and points of reference, his unorganized thoughts are as unreadable to me as an unknown language."

"You mean . . . what do you mean?" said Ron, sounding completely confused.

Lucius closed his eyes and gave a contemptuous sigh. Hermione answered Ron's question instead.

"Without Harry's conscious mind present to assemble cohesive, readable thoughts, Lucius would have to know and understand Harry – his past experiences, his personality – very well to navigate his disorganized mind."

"Oh," said Ron.

Lucius was right; bringing him there _had_ been pointless. Ginny could think of few people who were less likely to understand someone as kind and caring as Harry than the callous Death Eater that sat before her.

"However . . ." said Malfoy, whose face suddenly took on an overdone look of contemplation. When he did not immediately elaborate, it appeared to Ginny as if he were intentionally keeping them in suspense. But just before she would have shouted at him, Lucius continued.

"It is possible – again, only for a master Legilimens such as myself – to serve as a conduit between two other minds. If one of you," he looked around at the gathered crowd, "thought you knew Potter well enough, perhaps you might fare better than I. But be warned," he added with a cruel smile, "matters of the mind are always extremely sensitive . . . and often quite dangerous." There was relish in his voice as he delivered his warning; being the center of attention and intimidating others seemed to feed his ego.

Ginny did not care.

"I'll do it," she said without hesitation. Her family paused in silent shock, but Hermione gave Ginny a solemn nod. Lucius's face fell; he seemed almost disappointed that someone had taken him up on his boastful offer.

"That's out of the question," said Mr. Weasley.

"Dad, there's –"

"I said no, Ginny!"

Ginny was struck by her father's tone; she had rarely seen him so agitated and unreasonable. After shouldering shock after shock while remaining a source of strength for his family to rally around, the pressure seemed to finally be breaking him.

"Have you forgotten what he _did_ to you?" he shouted, swinging a pointing finger toward Lucius. "He put Tom Riddle's diary in your hands – put Voldemort in your _head_! There is _no way_ –"

"_I'll_ do it," commanded Ron, and he took a step forward. "I've known Harry longer, Ginny. You don't have to do this." Ginny raked her hands through her hair impatiently – she should have expected her self-sacrificing brother to push his role as protector upon her. Ginny drew a breath to argue but was halted by Hermione's quiet voice.

"No, Ron. You and I were both close to Harry, but not like Ginny. She has the best chance of finding him. I just know it."

"Hermione –"

"I _know_ it, Ron. She's done it before. She broke Harry free from the effects of all those Dementors remember? She reached him when no one else could have."

Ron appeared to grudgingly consider Hermione's point. Ginny returned her full attention to her father, who shook his head as he stared at her. Lucius looked bored as he watched the exchange.

"It's my choice," said Ginny with unyielding determination. "I'm of age."

"Your mother –"

"Isn't here, dad. And it wouldn't matter if she were. I'm doing this."

Ginny felt a surge of resolve, a sudden sense of purpose after languishing for so long in listless misery. It was as if the entire last year without Harry had led to this moment. She was certain that her father could sense the change in her, too. He remained still, a frown firmly etched onto his face. He gave no sign of giving in, but for the moment, halted his argument. Ginny took the break as an opportunity to push forward.

"How do I do this?" she said, turning to Lucius. He looked as if he could care less whether they proceeded or not.

"Simply lie down," he said, gesturing to the spot on the bed beside Harry. "And look into my eyes long enough to establish a connection. The difficulty will come once you enter Potter's thoughtstream; you may find that you cannot make any more sense of it than I could."

Ginny took a deep breath and nodded.

"Remember, Ginny," added Hermione. "You need to focus on things that you _share_ with Harry – memories, places, people – in order to make a connection. You have to pull these things forward and shape his thoughts for him in order to navigate his mind. It's impossible to guess what you might see . . . just look for anything that stands out or seems out of place; something that may hint at what is keeping Harry from coming back."

"Don't overreach, girl," warned Lucius, who leveled a stern stare at Ginny. "If you find something of interest, anything at all, report back to me immediately. You can exit the boy's mind at any time by simply wishing to do so."

Ginny nodded once again – her voice seemed to have vanished now that she was on the cusp of taking action – and sat on the bed beside Harry.

"Ginny," said Mr. Weasley, softly. His eyes begged her to reconsider.

"I love him," she said, simply. "More than anything."

Her father swallowed and closed his eyes in defeat.

"George, Charlie," he said, sounding crushed. "Move Harry over to make some room."

It was clear that Ginny's brothers also had strong reservations about what she was going to do, but they did as they were told. Ginny lay down alongside Harry and vaguely considered how, with so many potential problems and dangers for her family to worry about, the fact that she shared a bed with her ex-boyfriend didn't come close to making the list.

She looked at the boy beside her to steel her resolve.

"I-I'm ready," she said, her voice cracking only a little.

Lucius pulled his chair closer and leaned over her. Above Malfoy, Ginny saw her family close in and circle around him, each holding a wand to his head. Their message to Lucius was clear, but Ginny felt the need to deliver her own.

"If you try anything – if you hurt Harry in any way – I'll kill you."

Malfoy showed no concern as he took her face firmly in his hands and turned it sharply toward him. His cold grey eyes locked onto hers, and a quick breath later, she was pulled through them.

Ginny was falling . . . or was she floating? It was hard to tell since she felt no wind rushing against her. She tumbled through an endless darkness that held no earth or sky, no up or down. Her nearly waist-length hair whipped all over her skin, brushing areas that would not normally register its touch. Ginny realized she was naked.

She desperately looked for anything solid to cling to, but nothing presented itself. Then, she remembered something Hermione had just told her:

"_You have to pull these things forward and shape his thoughts for him_ . . ."

"Floor!" shouted Ginny, and suddenly, softly, she felt her toes settle upon an invisible, solid, something upon which to stand. With no other sensory input, however, she found it difficult to keep her balance in the darkness. She closed her eyes and focused on the feeling of her feet on the floor. That way, she could pretend to be standing in a normal room; she could imagine herself to be anywhere. An idea came to her.

"Hogwarts," she said, and then Ginny opened her eyes to find the familiar halls of her former school. Its corridors were empty and heavily shadowed, but otherwise the castle was exactly as she remembered it. She was even clothed in her Gryffindor robes.

Ginny had done it – she had successfully entered Harry's mind. At the very least, she had made it further than Lucius had. If the inner workings of Harry's mind now resembled Hogwarts, then perhaps, Ginny reasoned, she might be able to find Harry down one of its corridors or inside a room somewhere.

Ginny took a few steps along the passage that stretched before her, checked back over her shoulder, and came to a stunned stop. Below her feet – and from every spot where she had stepped – grew lush green grass dotted with flowers. The effect spread out from her for several feet in every direction and was accompanied by a glow as bright as sunshine. The trail she had left was breathtakingly beautiful. She kept an eye on it as she continued walking and saw that the grass began to fade from places that were now twenty or so feet behind her, returning the floor to cold, barren stone.

Ginny peeked through classroom doors and turned down several hallways but found nothing. She paused to think.

She had conjured Hogwarts from Harry's thoughts because, like her, Harry had many strong memories of the place. Would it work with people, too? Could it be that easy?

"Harry . . .?"

Her voice echoed through the dimly lit halls, but no one responded. Ginny let out a deep breath.

"Anyone? I . . . I need help . . ."

Still nothing. Ginny tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, glanced to her side, and gasped in alarm. Ron leaned against the wall with his arms folded, just an arm's reach away, also dressed in school robes. He wore a characteristic smirk and watched her with warm blue eyes.

"_God_, Ron – you nearly gave me a heart attack! How – where did you come from? Did Lucius put . . . put you . . ."

Ginny fell silent as she stared at him. Ron said nothing. Upon studying him more closely, Ginny noticed that her brother looked slightly different than he had appeared just minutes ago in her room. Was he perhaps a bit younger? He wasn't quite as fit as his training had made him over the past year, and his hair was a little shorter and less messy. He looked like he had at school.

And then Ginny thought she understood. Just as she had pulled Hogwarts from Harry's memories, this was how Harry remembered Ron: a happier version from better days – the Ron that had been his best mate for seven years.

And who better to come to Ginny's aid? Ron was the only one she had been close to after Harry's apparent death. Ron had been someone she could talk to, a shoulder to lean on – the one who helped her through so many months of hell. He had always stood by Harry, too. Ron was more than just another memory that she shared with Harry; he was a common confidant.

"Ron . . . where exactly _am_ I?"

He looked at her curiously.

"Maybe that question was too complicated," pondered Ginny. She thought for a moment. "Where is Harry?" She nearly jumped when he answered immediately.

"Trapped."

"Trapped? What do you mean? What's trapping him?"

"Voldemort."

Ginny staggered back at the name.

"Voldemort?" she asked, disbelievingly. "Where _is_ Voldemort?"

"He's everywhere now," said Ron, and he gestured to the darkness that shadowed the castle all around them. "He saw his chance when you cast the Killing Curse and Harry left; he's keeping Harry from coming back. Otherwise, Voldemort knows what Harry will do."

"What's that?" whispered Ginny, who now eyed the shadows fearfully.

"Kill."

"Kill who?"

"Voldemort. Harry. Same difference, really."

"That . . . doesn't make any sense," said Ginny. Ron shrugged.

Ginny fought her building frustration and tried to think. Ron wasn't really there, and neither was Harry – at least, not in any form she should be able to reason with or talk to. So the person that stood before her was just a conduit – a visualization of the process by which she could search Harry's scattered thoughts. Ginny could find information this way but she needed to know which questions to ask, the right thoughts and memories to pluck through.

Ginny swore; thinking about this was making her head hurt. She had no way of knowing if her guesses were correct, and no idea how to proceed. Maybe someone else would have been better suited to help Harry after all; Ginny had never been the brainy one. She wished that Hermione were there.

And then, maddeningly, she was.

Where Ron had stood the moment before, Hermione rushed by carrying a stack of books, her black robes bouncing along behind her. She was healthy and whole – like Ron, Hermione appeared as she had before leaving school to hunt Horcruxes.

"Horcruxes," said Hermione, stopping her sprint to repeat Ginny's last thought. "You've got something there, Ginny. I was just on my way to the library to do a bit of light reading – want to come?"

Without waiting for a response, Hermione resumed her brisk walk and Ginny hurried to catch up, continuing to leave a path of light and beauty behind her.

"What did you mean," panted Ginny, struggling to keep pace, "about Horcruxes?"

"Well," began Hermione, with a slight tone of bossiness that had lessened in recent years. "For all intents and purposes, Harry _is_ one; he always has been. He's Voldemort's final Horcrux – the one Voldemort did not intend to create."

Ginny stopped walking.

She looked around at the shadows in a sick kind of shock. She wanted to reject the notion that Harry housed a part of Voldemort's mutilated soul, to scream that it was impossible, but she could not. The moment Hermione had told her, Ginny recognized the feel of Tom Riddle's presence.

Ginny's eyes darted around frantically, scrutinizing every closed door and darkened corner, imagining that the school-aged Dark Lord would step into the light at any moment. Her heart raced with fright; she could not catch her breath. Ginny felt eleven years old again, terrified that Tom Riddle's touch would stain her soul forever. In her panic, she almost fled Harry's mind.

Hermione waited by the door to the library a short distance ahead, and Ginny managed to calm herself enough to enter the room. Hermione led her to several tall rows of bookshelves and began searching through them, pulling down the occasional dusty tome. Ginny slumped into a chair at a nearby table and clasped her hands together in an effort to keep them from trembling. Her eyes darted fearfully around the rest of the library, which – just like every other part of this imagined Hogwarts – was dim and deserted.

Ginny was startled by the loud thump of a small stack of books hitting the table in front of her.

"You can find everything there is to know about the Horcrux in these," said Hermione.

After another quick scan of the area, Ginny hesitantly took the top book and began to turn its pages. Soon she had flipped through several books, each packed with moving photographs that vividly illustrated a series of horrifying events: Harry learning the true nature of his connection to Voldemort; Harry walking toward the Forbidden Forest, intending to die; Voldemort capturing Harry instead of killing him; scene after scene of endless tests and torture within the Chamber of Secrets.

Sobbing and shaking, Ginny pushed away from the desk, scattering books everywhere. The images of Harry being burned, beaten, cut and worse played before her eyes again and again, searing themselves into her mind. It was too much to take. Ginny tried to rise on trembling legs and immediately stumbled to the floor, where she remained seated. She curled up against the base of a bookshelf and hugged her knees while a soft cushion of grass slowly spread out from her. Hermione idly went about gathering the strewn books and let her be.

Ginny cried for several minutes while she fought and failed to suppress the nightmarish visions. What Voldemort had done to Harry was beyond evil . . . beyond even what she thought the dark wizard capable of. It amazed her to think that Harry – disguised as James – had still been able to laugh, let alone walk or breathe. But he _had_ laughed, and smiled, and even joked when they played Quidditch several days prior.

Ginny focused on the thought that, no matter what she had seen in Harry's memories, he had survived. The Harry that she knew and loved was still there somewhere; she just had to find him. Ginny couldn't obsess over the fact that she had been unable to help him as he suffered.

It also wasn't important that, leading up to Harry's capture, Ginny had been forced to stand helplessly on the sidelines. It did not matter that Harry had probably never counted her among those closest to him . . . that he may have never loved her . . .

"You don't think Harry loves you?" asked Hermione, who Ginny looked up to see perched on the table with her crossed legs dangling over its side. Next to her stood a neat and newly restacked tower of books.

"I-it doesn't matter," said Ginny, who pulled herself up using the bookshelf. She wiped her wet face with the collar of her robes as she stumbled toward the table.

"It matters a great deal," countered Hermione. She considered Ginny for a moment. "Have you visited the grounds yet?"

"What? No. Why?"

"The answer to the question that you _really_ want to ask can be found outside the castle."

"O-Okay," said Ginny, hesitantly. "Is . . . is that where Harry is?"

Hermione tilted her head at Ginny in contemplation; it seemed that Ginny had asked another question that could not be answered easily.

Ginny left Hermione in the library and found her way through the dim passages toward the castle's towering front doors. Was it her fearful imagination, or could she feel Tom Riddle watching her from somewhere in the half-light? She hurried along, her glowing grass temporarily pushing back the darkness one step at a time.

Upon reaching the castle's enormous front doors, Ginny's senses began to scream that she was in danger. She spun on the spot when she heard a faint noise echo out of the halls, and spun again when she experienced what felt like a gust of warm breath on the back of her neck. With the doors at her back, Ginny sucked in rapid breaths and scanned the shadows. She somehow sensed that leaving the castle was wrong, against the rules. It felt like it angered . . . someone.

And then she saw them: two glowing eyes, red and snakelike, staring at her from a dark corner across the entrance chamber. Ginny felt the full weight of Tom Riddle's will press in upon her and she whimpered in fear. Without taking her eyes off the pair that watched her, Ginny fumbled behind her back for the door handle while her heart threatened to thud through her chest.

The door behind her gave way, and she spilled through it onto the school's front steps.

She instantly felt at ease. In fact, she felt better than she could ever remember. Ginny looked around to see that the grounds were bathed in the brilliant sunlight of a glorious day. The sky was clear blue and the trees swayed softly in a warm, gentle breeze. After building so many bad memories at the school in recent years, Ginny had forgotten that Hogwarts could be like this.

She stood and shut the door, although Ginny no longer held any concern for the shadows on its other side – her previous fears seemed trivial while standing under such a magnificent sky. But it was much more than just the scenery that lifted Ginny's spirits. There was an intangible _something_ in the air that gave everything a slight golden sparkle; something that she could feel wrapped around her like a comforting blanket. She smelled its sweet scent on the air and could feel it tingling from the surface of her skin down to her bones.

She descended the steps to find that her grassy trail emptied into the yard seamlessly – a perfect match. It was as if she had carried some of the splendor of this place with her inside the castle. Ginny saw the lake in the distance and, feeling completely content and at peace, she leisurely made her way toward it while soaking in more of the feeling that she could only attempt to describe as pure joy. When she came closer to the water's edge, she caught sight of a lone figure sitting against a large tree, silhouetted against the lake's sparkling surface. Ginny froze when she saw the girl's face.

"So," said the Ginny by the lake. "Do you still need to ask?"

The girl was Ginny as she had looked during her fifth year, the last year that held any happy memories for her of this place. She was wearing Quidditch robes and her broom lay in the grass beside her. She was dirty and messy as if she had just played a game, yet impossibly beautiful at the same time. Ginny was certain that she had never come close to looking that good.

"A-Ask what?" Ginny stuttered. Her twin rolled her eyes but grinned.

"The question you've asked yourself over and over for far too long."

Ginny could come up with no response. It didn't help that talking to another version of herself was the strangest thing she had ever done. The other Ginny sighed.

"And we thought _Harry_ was thick," she said with a chuckle. She stood and brushed off the bottom of her robes. "Let me ask _you_ a question, then: do you know where you are?"

"Um," muttered Ginny, confused. "Hogwarts . . . by the lake?"

"Right in one," said her double, smirking. "Now, how about _when_?"

Ginny looked blankly into her mirrored brown eyes for several moments before the answer hit her out of the blue. The perfect day, by the lake, just after Quidditch . . .

Ginny smiled broadly.

"This is – was – the day that we won the Quidditch Cup . . . the day that Harry kissed me for the first time."

"Got there at last," said the other girl, who beamed at Ginny. "He kissed you, took you by the hand, and led you out of the castle. You walked and talked for hours and eventually settled here, on this very spot, where you kissed for the second time . . . and the third, and fourth, and fifth . . ." She continued to count silently on her fingers and her smile became mischievous.

"Well," said Ginny in a falsely defensive tone, "he owed me for a lot of lost time." Standing in Harry's glowing memory of that day, it was easy to remember how she had felt then, how her heart had overflowed with joy; how his every touch made her skin tingle . . .

And Ginny finally understood. She spluttered a sob that was part laughter and her eyes filled with tears; the wonderful feeling that enveloped her swelled. The other Ginny watched her warmly and wore an almost proud expression when she next spoke.

"So," she said, with a knowing smile. "How do you feel?"

Tears slid down one side of Ginny's face and then the other.

"Loved."

To her very core, Ginny was infused with an almost tangible, living love. No, it was beyond love – it was adoration. It overwhelmed her senses and was almost too much to bear. She felt humbled and unworthy, but greedily accepted the sensation and reveled in its effect.

"Now then," said the other girl, her own eyes looking watery. "Do you still need to ask me the question that's been driving you mental since the day Harry brought you to this spot?"

Ginny shook her head while tears of joy continued to pour down her face. Her twin continued.

"Voldemort feeds off our fears and insecurities; it gives him power and control. But he can't touch this place – do you understand why that is?"

Ginny thought for a moment, then nodded.

"And do you realize what that means?"

"Y-Yes."

Ginny did understand, and she was suddenly sure of two things: that she knew where Harry would be, and that nothing could stop her from reaching him.

"Then go get him."

Ginny did not need to be told twice.

She raced back to the castle and threw its double doors open wide – filling the entrance hall with the blazing sunlight from beyond its walls – and strode triumphantly through the now shadowless area. Ginny took the stairs to the next floor where darkness remained ahead of her, but she now glowed with an aura many times brighter than before. Instead of leaving only the soft grass of the courtyard in her wake, Ginny's every step replaced the hallways around her with an expansion of the scene from outside. She didn't break stride until she reached her destination.

Ginny entered the bathroom carefully, certain that if Voldemort could defend his territory, he would do so there. But the light that she carried scorched the shadows from the room, leaving no place for glowing red eyes to appear. She stepped to the sink and, steeling herself, commanded the hidden entrance to appear. It didn't matter that she normally could not speak Parseltongue – in this place, shaped by her thoughts as well as Harry's, Ginny got to decide what she could and could not do. The entrance pipe appeared, and without a second thought, she entered it and slid down. When she reached the bottom, however, the scene that met her was not what she expected.

Ginny was at one end of a small, dark room that she guessed was in someone's house. As she took a few tentative steps forward, her light uncovered various pieces of pristine furniture that were neatly arranged in an immaculate sitting room. She recognized a few items from the collection of Muggle things in her father's shed. Despite the invincible aura that burst from inside her, Ginny could feel Voldemort's presence – he was very strong here.

Ginny stilled when she noticed a very low noise – a soft, muffled murmur coming from somewhere ahead of her. She approached the sound slowly, cautiously, until the shadows had been pushed back enough to reveal a small door in a hallway – the entrance to a cupboard under a staircase.

She could hear the low noise better now; it was coming from within the cupboard. It sounded like . . . someone crying. Ginny kneeled before the door and saw that it was bolted from the outside. She reached out her hand, slid back the latch, and slowly swung open the door.

Her glow illuminated the back of a young black-haired boy, no older than eleven, lying on his side atop a battered old mattress. His shoulders shook as he lay facing the far wall.

"H-Harry . . .?"

The boy froze for a second, and then whipped around and skittered as far back into the tiny space as he could, his green eyes wide with fear at the sight of his visitor. Ginny saw that he was cut and bruised in many places, and looked as if he had been starved.

"Shhh," soothed Ginny. "I-It's all right; I won't hurt you." She held up a hand in peace. "No one's going to hurt you anymore, Harry. I p-promise."

The sight of Harry – of what he had been reduced to – brought Ginny fresh tears. Keeping her eyes on his, she slowly ducked through the door, knelt on the bed, and reached both arms out in invitation. Harry's eyes studied her closely, and as she gazed back at him, his face softened. The boy climbed into her lap and, suddenly seeming exhausted, collapsed against her. Ginny cradled him in her arms and whispered words of comfort against his ear.

She told him that he was safe, and that he wasn't alone anymore; that he had been missed and had a wonderful home and family to return to. And most of all, she said again and again the words that would not stop bursting from her chest:

"_I love you_."

* * *

"That's enough, Malfoy! She's been under for an hour – bring her back _now_!"

"As I have already told you, _Weasley_, your daughter must return of her own accord."

Ginny heard people shouting nearby, and then her other senses returned. She felt bed sheets twisted underneath and something warm pressed against her. Opening her eyes, Ginny saw that she was only an inch away from Harry's sleeping face, which had turned toward her. She had at some point rolled onto her side, stretched an arm across his chest, and tangled her legs with his.

Ginny gently withdrew her hand from Harry's chest, cupped the side of his jaw, and softly brushed her thumb back and forth against it.

Harry drew a sudden breath. The room fell silent.

He opened his emerald eyes, and Ginny's face stretched into a wide smile.

"Welcome back, Harry."

* * *

Next:

Against Harry's plans and judgment, the people that he loves have learned his secret. But Harry's return is only the first of many revelations that set the stage for the Order's final showdown with Lord Voldemort.

Coming soon, the twelfth chapter in _The World I Leave Behind_, "Homecoming."

"He won't make the same mistake . . ."

"That sounded meaner than I meant it to."

"That's not funny."

"I warned you. Now you're stuck here."

"Did they ever see me when I was with you?"

"You know you're an idiot, right?"

"I would've thought that you'd understand that."

* * *

A/N:

I don't usually post chapter notes here at FF, but I wanted to apologize for falling so far behind in responding to the great reviews and words of encouragement that so many of you have been nice enough to send my way. I've read and appreciated each and every message (really, they keep me going), but I've had to spend most of what little free time I have writing the story.

Having said that, I do a much better job of keeping in touch at Sink Into Your Eyes, where this story was first posted (I'd include a link, but they seem to be automatically edited out here). I _love_ FF, but at SIYE everyone can see my responses to each review, which gets a good discussion going.

So, I'd like to invite anyone who may have a question — or might simply like to add his or her comments to a growing discussion about the story — to review at SIYE. You need to register to view an R-rated story like this one, but don't worry; they've never spammed me with any annoying e-mails or anything.

If that sounds like a hassle, don't worry about it! I love getting comments here at FF and I hope that they keep coming (just please don't be put off if it takes me a long time to get back to you :)


	13. Chapter Twelve: Homecoming

The silence was deafening.

Harry sat on the edge of Ginny's bed, surrounded by the entire Weasley family, Hermione, and Madame Pomfrey, waiting for someone to say something. But the only sounds came from Harry's rapid breaths and the pounding of his pulse in his ears. He existed in a haze, still confused and disoriented at having woken up in Ginny's room when his last memory was of dueling Voldemort. And he felt sickened by the poisonous words he had expelled at long last.

He had just told them everything.

With his hands shaking and his eyes trained on the floor, Harry had recounted the march to his presumed death in the Forbidden Forest and his subsequent capture and yearlong imprisonment in the Chamber of Secrets; how he had escaped when the Order of the Phoenix raided the castle; and how, disguised, he had lived among the Weasleys in secret to plan his next move, keep tabs on Voldemort, and search for the spy that had infiltrated the resistance.

And just seconds ago, Harry had told them the very worst of it, that he held a stolen shard of Lord Voldemort's soul; that he, Harry, tethered their worst enemy to life and must therefore die to enable the Dark Lord's defeat.

The words had bubbled up in Harry's throat like bile. In just a few frantic minutes, he had forced out every secret he had sworn to keep, information that could only cause the people he loved even more pain and worry. While Harry had pushed on, barely able to fit his panicked thoughts into coherent sentences, he had not paused to give anyone a chance to react. Aside from occasional gasps, the room had remained in a stunned silence.

Harry had feared the scene before him above all else, even more than his eventual death. He knew a terrible guilt for having now pulled his surrogate family into his nightmare, and felt hot shame for having been caught deceiving them. He had never wanted them to learn what he truly was or the horrible thing he had to do, and he certainly would not have wanted them to find out like this.

But the situation had changed. When the Dark Lord tried to invade Harry's mind during their duel, Harry had fought back and unintentionally pushed his way into Voldemort's thoughts, instead. And in the agonizing moments before the effort had caused both he and his enemy to lose consciousness, Harry had glimpsed Voldemort's plans; had learned at last the full and horrible depths to which the Dark Lord was willing to go in order to secure his immortality.

Before Harry could warn everyone of what was coming, they had to understand what had come before. And so, immediately upon regaining consciousness and finding Hermione – horribly wounded but alive – in the bed across from his, Harry had launched into his story.

The gathered crowd was a blur before him; Harry had left his glasses on the bedside table because it would have been so much harder to watch their faces while he spoke. And he tried hard, _very_ hard, to ignore the fact that Ginny sat beside him with her small hand covering his, and that he had inexplicably woken up lying beside her, their bodies tangled; with her looking at him in a way that she certainly had not done when he wore the mask of James Foster.

And now, having covered the essentials, Harry caught his breath and moved on to the most important part, as the others in the room still seemed to be taking in the onslaught of information he had just given them.

"Voldemort," Harry began, swallowing dryly. "He's found another way to beat death; to become immortal. He's bringing all of his Death Eaters to Hogwarts . . . he wants them to see it happen, to bear witness as he becomes invincible, untouchable."

A rising panic caused Harry's words to tumble out faster, becoming less coherent.

"He can't make another one by himself – there isn't enough of his soul left. And the objects he used before were too weak, too vulnerable. He won't make the same mistake . . ."

Harry felt Ginny's hand squeeze tighter around his.

"He's found a solution," Harry continued. "He's developed a way . . ."

Harry steadied himself and, for the first time, looked directly toward the paper-white faces that swam out of focus before him.

"He's going to turn the entire castle into a Horcrux, one that can never be destroyed . . . and he's going to kill every student at Hogwarts to do it."

* * *

**The World I Leave Behind  
**Chapter Twelve: Homecoming

* * *

"What?" breathed Hermione, the small sound coming from out of sight where Harry knew she lay.

"We've got . . . g-got to . . ." Harry paused to rub a hand over his face as a wave of something like exhaustion crashed over him. He was not physically tired, but now that he had said the last of what he had to, the pressure of the moment and the enormity of the danger they faced were finally beginning to overpower him. Harry struggled with what to say next, and fumbled for his glasses to cover the awkwardness of the moment. He put them on just in time to see Mrs. Weasley's tear-stricken face as her arms enveloped him. Mr. Weasley had called for her the moment Harry awoke, but Harry had kept everyone at arm's length while he spoke.

Mrs. Weasley sobbed into his shoulder, and Harry numbly wrapped an arm around her just before Mr. Weasley hugged them both. And underneath them, Ginny's arms were the tightest. Soon, other arms were added to the huddle as hands sought out open spots on Harry to touch and signal their support. For one shining moment, Harry forgot the burdens and fears he had suffered under and gloried in the glow of the group that engulfed him.

During the time he had spent disguised at the Burrow, Harry had often imagined what the Weasleys' reaction might be if they were to discover his secret. He had envisioned horrible, hurt expressions on their faces, having been betrayed by someone who Mrs. Weasley had once described as being as good as a son. Occasionally, Harry had daydreamed that he could rationalize his actions – convince them that he had acted in their best interests – and be forgiven. But he had never pictured something so simple, so perfect, as this. A single soft sob escaped his lips, and the web of warmth around him tightened in response.

After a minute more the gathering withdrew, leaving only Ginny next to Harry. Harry felt her take his hand again as Mr. Weasley helped his wife into a chair and then settled into his own seat beside her. "Harry," Mr. Weasley began, removing his glasses to wipe his eyes. His words were slow and soft. "It's hard to know where to begin . . . but right now, at this moment, the important thing is that you are _here_, back with us . . . for as long as you can stay."

Several words of agreement came from the others in the group. Mrs. Weasley nodded her support of her husband's words, but whimpered and blinked rapidly, causing Mr. Weasley to reach a comforting arm around her.

"Now, Harry," continued Mr. Weasley, positioning his glasses back upon his nose. "Are you sure . . . are you quite certain . . ."

"Yes," Harry cut in. No matter what the question would have been, Harry was positive that everything he had told them was true. He felt completely drained and did not want to revisit what he had seen in Voldemort's mind, or hear any potential talk of how he might avoid death when Harry knew that entertaining false hopes would only make the inevitable more difficult to bear. Mr. Weasley must have heard the certainty in Harry's voice, because after a moment's pause, he gave a solemn nod of understanding.

"All right, then," said Mr. Weasley, who gazed intently at Harry as if he were considering several other questions. Thankfully, he chose one for which Harry had an easy answer.

"Do you know when this is supposed to . . . I mean, when Voldemort . . ."

"The thirteenth, I think. That's when the last of the Death Eaters are meant to arrive at Hogwarts. Lucius Malfoy told me."

Harry glanced at the spot where Lucius had been when he, Harry, had come to. The reluctant Death Eater informant had left the Burrow the moment Harry awoke, complaining that he would soon be missed at the school, and that he could not – as he put it – suffer the Weasleys' company or their ramshackle house any longer. With Harry's approval, Kreacher had returned Lucius to the school using the House-Elf equivalent of Apparition.

Harry disliked Malfoy as much as anyone else in the room did, but he reluctantly felt some gratitude to the man for – as Harry vaguely understood the situation – having played a role in bringing him back.

"The thirteenth . . ." Mr. Weasley repeated.

"What day is it today?" Harry asked, realizing that he had no idea how long he had been unconscious.

"The fifth."

Just eight days – it was barely more than a week away. Harry felt like he was falling.

Bill drew in a slow, deep breath. "That's not much time," he said.

Mr. Weasley turned toward his eldest son and they shared a grave look. "No, it isn't."

"We'll have to move fast if we're going to stop this," Bill continued. "Come up with a plan, get everyone on board, coordinate an attack . . ."

"We won't be able to break through the castle's protections like we did before," Percy added. "They will have strengthened its magical defenses, and this time his entire army will be there."

"It'll be all or nothing," said Charlie. "This is it. We finish it, once and for all."

"But even if we manage to break in and deal with the Death Eaters," said George, "if what Harry says is true, then nothing that we do will matter much unless . . . well . . ."

All eyes flitted back to Harry. George did not have to say it; everyone understood now – there could be no victory while Harry's heart continued to beat. Harry felt Ginny lean against him and he chanced a sideways glance to see that she was staring blankly at the floor.

"Like Charlie said," said Harry, making his voice as strong and steady as he could manage. "We finish it, once and for all."

The room fell silent again, and Harry looked away from the stares he did not want to see. His eyes fell on Hermione, who, even now – having known all along what Harry must do – looked at him with just as much pain and pity as she had done when he first told her that he was the final Horcrux.

"I, um . . ." stammered Harry, choked by a rush of dizzying emotions that simultaneously made him want to scream, run, cry – he even had a bizarre impulse to laugh. "B-bathroom," he muttered, and he blindly slid his hand free of the one holding it and left the room, careful not to catch anyone's eye. No one stopped him.

By the time that Harry escaped to the bathroom and closed the door behind him, he felt as though he might be sick. He slumped over the sink and gasped into it as he fought to bring his breathing under control, and spent several minutes watching occasional drops of sweat drip from his face and collect at the drain.

He struggled with the realization that he was almost out of time . . . the anguish of having laid himself bare before the people that meant everything to him . . . the conflicting pain and joy at finally being seen for who he truly was . . . and above all, the feeling that he had failed – failed to fulfill the prophecy; failed to find a way to stay with them; failed to protect them. If it got out that Harry Potter was at the Burrow . . .

Straightening up, Harry caught sight of his pallid face in the mirror. His body ached and he felt a sickly kind of weakness. He began to wash his hands, but suddenly saw them covered in blood – Hermione's blood – as a flash of memory suddenly flared within his mind. Harry's breathing sped as he scrubbed his hands harder and harder, frantically trying to remove the blood that was no longer there. He was able to stop only by willing one trembling hand to clutch the other.

Harry was not close to being ready to return to the others, so he pulled off his clothes and stalled for time in the shower. For a long time he simply stood with his hands braced against the wall below the showerhead, soaking in water that was as hot as he could bear.

For a brief moment Harry considered leaving again, this time alone, but he could never abandon them now that they knew the truth . . . especially not _her_. Harry realized that he was working very hard not to think of Ginny – how she had been by his side even though he had deceived her. She could not possibly have forgiven him so easily, but if she had, it would only make Harry feel worse. He closed his eyes and saw hers; saw the glowing look she had given him when he woke up next to her. His hand burned where she had touched him. Harry had been right to think that revealing himself to Ginny would complicate matters; make things more difficult. She was his priority now, not Voldemort. He could not bear to think of how he must be hurting her, and he knew now that he would do absolutely anything to help her.

Harry hid in the shower for so long that the hot water ran out, but mercifully, the others left him alone. His varying lines of thought had not led him to any conclusions, but he had endured his whirlwind emotions long enough to manage some control over them. And although he could not yet imagine the way forward, he accepted that there was no going back; that the time for worrying over whether or not he should share his secrets was behind him.

Harry put on his clothes, drew in a deep, steadying breath, and exited the room. His tenuous control was tested immediately when he found Ginny sitting on the landing, her back pressed against the wall opposite the bathroom. She raised her head from her bent knees and looked at him. Her eyes were red and she looked as if she had not slept for ages, but she gave him a small smile, took something from the floor beside her, and offered it to him.

"I brought you these," she said tentatively. It took Harry a moment to tear his eyes from her face to find a bundle of clothes in her hands. "You left them here a long time ago . . . they're clean."

Harry stared at the clothes for a moment before he managed to mutter "thanks," then he reached out and took them. He felt a jolt in his stomach as his fingers brushed hers.

"I'll just . . ." Harry trailed off, then offered a weak smile and reentered the bathroom. Ginny's ambush had shaken the resolve he had built over the past half hour, but Harry managed to gain much of it back by the time he put on the burgundy t-shirt and fresh pair of dark jeans. When he again entered the landing, he was unsurprised to find Ginny still waiting for him.

"Thanks," he said again. "These are much better."

Ginny smiled and shrugged as if to say "no problem." She stood and briefly rubbed her lower back; Harry supposed she must have been sitting there since he first went into the bathroom.

"Dad and most of the others are downstairs," she said, heading off what could have been an awkward silence. "They're getting in touch with Shell Cottage, Muriel's, and the other safe houses. They're calling an emergency meeting for tomorrow, here at the Burrow. They're asking all of the senior Order members to come."

"That many?" asked Harry, immediately spotting a danger. "What about the spy; the one who tipped off Voldemort about the Order's _first_ raid on Hogwarts?"

"They're debating what to do about that," answered Ginny as she began to slowly descend the stairs. Harry fell into step beside her. "Bringing them here is a risk, but dad says that we have no choice with only a week, at most, to prepare – we can't do it alone. Charlie thinks we should ask everyone to take an Unbreakable Vow, but dad said that's going too far."

Again, Harry imagined the extra danger that everyone would be in if Voldemort were to learn that his last remaining Horcrux was at the Burrow.

"I . . . I shouldn't be here," Harry said.

Ginny rounded on Harry and gave him a look that, while not angry, quelled him instantly.

"Yes, you should," she said, standing so close that Harry could have easily kissed her. "You belong here, Harry. Never question that."

Her voice was stern, almost a warning, but he saw vulnerability in her eyes as she spoke. Harry was nearly overcome by a stray urge to tuck several loose strands of Ginny's hair behind her ear, but before he could act on the impulse, she took his hand and guided him back into her bedroom, which Harry suddenly realized they had reached.

Only Ron and Madame Pomfrey remained inside with Hermione. Before, Hermione's injuries had been one of many things fueling Harry's panic; now that he had alerted the others to Voldemort's plan and calmed himself enough to focus, he felt the full and terrible impact of her marred face and the burned flesh he knew must lie beneath the bandages that covered her body.

In his mind's eye, Harry saw a flash of fire – of running past flaming corpses to reach Hermione, who screamed as she burned – as a piece of what had followed his duel with Voldemort rose out of the fog in his memory.

Hermione's parents were dead and she would never be the same, all because Harry had demanded to leave the Burrow and had allowed her to take him to her family home. Harry shouldered the blame for many past mistakes, but what Hermione had lost was so enormous that he was momentarily stunned, unable to comprehend the magnitude of his guilt.

Hermione looked at Harry as he stopped at the foot of her bed, and her eyes – surrounded by scarred skin – lit up as if his arrival made her day. Her face slowly fell, however, as Harry's unbearable emotions began to force their way out. He feebly tried to say something, anything – her name, since it was all that came to mind – but tears fell instead, and his face contorted in anguish as he began to fall apart in front of her.

"Come on, Harry," Ginny said tenderly. She placed a hand on his back and guided him to her bed. "It'll be all right. Just sit down and rest for a minute."

"It's okay, Harry," Hermione called to him. "I'm all right . . ."

A non-distinct noise of disagreement followed her words, and Harry glanced back to find Ron giving him an unreadable look from his seat at Hermione's bedside. It was the first time Harry had seen him properly, and in that instant Harry knew that his best friend would not disagree that Harry was indeed at fault for what had happened.

Ginny led Harry to sit on her bed then stood directly before him as if to shield him from Ron's view. Harry continued to stare blankly forward, his face once again calm but still wet with tears.

"Mr. Potter," said Madame Pomfrey from somewhere behind Ginny. "When you are ready, I need to give you a brief examination. I haven't had the opportunity to take a look at you since you awoke."

Ginny bent down, took Harry's face in her hands, and gently turned it toward hers.

"She should do this straight away, Harry," she said, brushing a thumb across his jaw. "It's important."

Harry said nothing, but nodded as he took a shaky breath.

Ginny took a step back to make room for Madame Pomfrey, who spent several minutes busying herself around Harry, diagnosing his condition with hurried spell work until she seemed satisfied with the results.

"You appear to be in perfect health," she said. "Especially for someone who, according to some, was dead less than twenty-four hours ago. Not _my_ diagnosis," she added, in a tone that suggested pronouncements of death should be left to qualified experts. "How do you feel?"

When he really thought about it, Harry found that there was another feeling beyond the myriad emotions that had possessed him so completely; something he could not put a name to.

"It's . . . weird," he said. "I don't know how to describe it. It's like . . . I'm awake, but my body's asleep. Does that make any sense?"

"Hmm," said Mrs. Pomfrey, who aimed a couple of extra waves of her wand at Harry. "Well, you've been through quite a lot of trauma – in more than just the physical sense, I'm sure. Get some rest and we'll have you feeling back to normal soon enough. It wouldn't hurt for you to stay in bed for the remainder of the day, but if you truly are the boy who visited my ward so frequently in years past, I doubt very much that you will take that advice to heart." Her face softened – an unusual look for the notoriously stern matron. "And may I say that it is _very_ good to see you again, Mr. Potter."

"Um, thanks," muttered Harry. "It's good to see you too, Madame Pomfrey."

She patted Harry's shoulder before turning to address Hermione. "I'm leaving for Shell Cottage, Miss Granger, but I have left instructions with Molly detailing your potions and the times at which they should be administered. Get plenty of rest, and you may be able to spend some time out of bed tomorrow. We can discuss it when I return in the morning."

"Thank you, Madame Pomfrey," Hermione said earnestly. "For everything."

The matron gave her a warm smile and exited the room.

That just left Harry and Ginny on one side of the room, and Ron and Hermione on the other. The air was thick with Harry's guilt over Hermione, and of Ron's continued silence. Ginny seemed to pick up on the darkening atmosphere right away.

"Come with me, Harry," she said, tugging his arm as he followed her lead and stood. She took his hand and guided him to the door, walking between Harry and the others, still appearing to shield him from them. As they crossed the room Ginny looked toward her brother, and although Harry could not see her face, Ron seemed to shift uncomfortably under her gaze. Just as Harry and Ginny reached the doorway, Ron finally spoke.

"Harry," he called. "It's, well . . . it's good to see you again."

There was nothing insincere about the greeting, but considering the magnitude of the moment and the former strength of their friendship, Ron's words seemed so insufficient that they felt to Harry like a punch in the stomach. But, Harry chided himself, had he deserved any better after lying to Ron and returning Hermione to him in such a miserable state?

Ron's words did not seem to satisfy Ginny.

"Let's go," she huffed, and pulled Harry from the room.

She led him down the stairs, through the kitchen, and out the back door, avoiding the pockets of people that Harry glimpsed through open doorways. She seemed agitated as she took him into the bright, clear day, coming to a stop just inside a large group of trees that shielded them from the Burrow's view.

Ginny faced Harry, folded her arms, and chewed her bottom lip in thought. Harry braced himself to hear whatever it was she was about to say; no matter how much pain the words might cause, he knew he deserved it.

And then she punched him in the arm.

Hard.

"Ow!" said Harry, who rubbed his arm and took a step back. Ginny pursued him and pushed a pointed finger into his chest.

"_That's_ for not telling us the truth," she said. "For letting us think you were dead while you hid out here. You should have told us, Harry." Despite her attack, Ginny did not appear angry, but her piercing eyes told Harry there was no room for debate on this point.

"I'm sorry, Ginny. It's just . . . I didn't want . . ."

"I know, Harry. You didn't want to put us in more danger, or worry us, or whatever – the same reasons you always use to push people away." She sighed and swiped at several strands of hair that had blown across her face. "That sounded meaner than I meant it to."

"Ginny," said Harry, desperate for her to understand. "It _killed_ me to lie to you – to all of you – but my being here _does_ put you in danger. Look . . . look at what happened to the Grangers . . ." Harry slumped under the returning weight of what his visit to their home had cost them; what it had cost Hermione.

"Okay, stop," said Ginny, clutching both of his hands in hers. "You can't keep doing this to yourself, Harry. You can't take responsibility for every horrible thing that Voldemort does. That's why I brought you out here, to . . . to punch you for the one reason you deserved it, and to tell you that the rest _isn't your fault_."

Ginny paused until Harry met her eyes. When she continued, her tone pleaded for him to understand.

"With or without you, all of us stand against Voldemort. We know the risk, and just like you, we choose to fight. We live in danger because of our own actions, not yours – because fighting _him_ is the right thing to do. We have just as much right to make that choice as you do, Harry."

Harry stared into her defiant face and hated that she was right. Of course he had known that it was Ginny's choice to stand up for herself and her family. He had greatly admired her for taking action against the Death Eater regime during her last year at Hogwarts, even though it had made him sick with worry. But he could not bring himself to agree with any argument that would put her in more danger than she was already in.

Was he no better than Ginny's mother or Dean Thomas, both of whom treated her like a child who was incapable of contributing or making her own decisions? No, Harry reasoned; there was a difference. He knew that she was capable; he was just selfish. He wanted – needed – her to stay safe and whole, or what point would there be to any of this?

"You don't know how much good you've done," Ginny went on. "What you've meant to us . . ."

Harry flinched at her praise.

"Why don't you hate me, Ginny?" It was a sudden, desperate question. "After all that I've put you through . . ." Harry thought of how he had turned his back on her at Dumbledore's funeral – of their last kiss on his seventeenth birthday, when he had left her in tears. And above all, he remembered the confessions he had overheard when she spoke to his empty grave; how his actions and neglect had caused her pain for far longer than he had known.

Ginny seemed startled by the question and carefully considered her answer. When she spoke, it was in a voice so soft that it caressed him like a physical touch.

"I know what's in your heart, Harry." She blinked rapidly and gave a sad smile before going on. "Even if I don't always agree with your choices, I could never question why you've made them. You're a good man, Harry Potter. Better than you'll ever give yourself credit for."

Whether he deserved them or not, her heartfelt words were like Phoenix Song to Harry, and they temporarily released him from the tangled thoughts and fears that warred inside his mind.

"I . . . I missed you so much," Harry sighed, allowing – for the moment – the walls he had built to come crumbling down.

Ginny's face scrunched up as if she were close to tears, and she silently nodded her agreement. Closing the remaining space between them in a single small step, she hugged Harry, sniffling as she pressed her cheek against his chest.

The feel of her in his arms was like something from a long-forgotten dream. For over a year his only physical contact had been torture at the hands of Lord Voldemort. During those endless, hourless days in captivity, Harry had clung to the memory of her touch – the warmth of her hands and the pressure of her fingertips upon his skin; how her sweet-smelling hair tickled when it brushed across his face. Something that had almost died within the Chamber of Secrets reignited inside him, and his entire being tingled with an electric pulse that issued from every spot that pressed against her.

"I missed you, too," whispered Ginny.

Harry rested his head in her hair and held her as tightly as she held him. They stayed like that for a long time as the warm summer breeze rustled through the leaves, sprinkling them with glowing flickers of light that slipped through the fluttering cracks in the canopy of trees.

* * *

Upon returning to the Burrow, Harry got the impression that the others had purposefully left him alone with Ginny. His return to the house caused quite a commotion; removed from the sudden shock and grim atmosphere of his revival, a more-animated Weasley family met him with smiles and vigorous pats on the back. Harry received a teary hug from Fleur, who joyfully introduced him to her one year-old daughter, Victoire, as the man who had once rescued "tante Gabrielle." Harry could not banish his worries completely from the back of his mind, but – lit by the inner glow that had rekindled during his respite with Ginny – it was easier to accept their warm welcome and appreciate this unexpected reintroduction to his favorite family.

The mood dimmed, however, when Bill and Charlie apologized for the hostile way in which they had received Harry when he first returned to the Burrow in the role of Hermione's new friend. And the two men – who Harry considered the boldest, most rugged of the Weasley brothers – seemed to be near tears as they wrestled with the fact that they had beaten Harry badly when they believed him to be a disguised Death Eater on the attack.

"That wasn't your fault," said Harry, trying his best to reassure them. "Given the circumstances, of course you would've reacted that way. If anyone's to blame, it's me. And anyway, I'm fine, aren't I? I don't even remember it, really. I barely remember coming here – it's all a blur."

Bill and Charlie reluctantly accepted Harry's forgiveness, but Harry noticed that Ginny – who had remained by his side – shrank back during their talk. The topic of Harry's traumatic reappearance the previous day seemed to bother her greatly, so he closed the subject as quickly as he could and walked with her to the kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley was beginning to serve a late lunch. As Harry passed the sitting room – which he knew to have been seriously damaged when he broke through the Burrow's anti-Apparition wards – he was relieved to see that it had been fully repaired.

Harry crowded around the kitchen table with the entire Weasley family except for Ron, who ate upstairs with Hermione since she was still restricted to her bed. The room was filled with animated chatter, of reports being traded back and forth from those who had contacted the various groups that, Harry learned, had all agreed to meet even though they were not told why. Despite the grimness of the situation, the Weasleys eagerly discussed ideas for the attack, encouraged by the fact that they had learned of the Dark Lord's plan while there was still time to act.

Harry listened to their words but did not join in. Although the circumstances behind his reunion with the Weasleys were terrible, he allowed himself to appreciate the moment; of sitting among them without a mask and being accepted, no matter what had come before.

Ginny helped her mother hand out plates of food, but she focused almost entirely on serving Harry. It was a small thing, but the extra fuss over filling his plate seemed to further fan the flame that had lit inside Harry's chest. Ginny squeezed into the chair next to him and kept contact with his side as they began to eat. Talk died down as everyone tucked in.

Nothing had changed, really, since Harry had woken up – they were in just as much danger, Voldemort was days away from becoming truly immortal and committing an act of unimaginable evil, and Harry would soon have to leave everyone behind forever. And yet, as he sat among those cherished people, recognized for who he was, he began to feel better than he had in a long time. Harry could not call it happiness, but it was close to peace – or perhaps acceptance was a better word. While struggling to keep his secrets from them, he had never suspected how much it would mean for them to know.

The group continued to eat in silence with everyone lost in their own thoughts. Mr. Weasley was the first to finish, although his plate was still half full.

"Harry," he called, placing his elbows on the table and wringing his hands nervously. His eyes dropped for a moment, then returned to Harry. "Forgive me, but how . . . how do you know there isn't another way? I mean, I can't just accept that . . . that you have to . . ."

Harry worked to hold on to his newfound calm.

"Dumbledore," he said before taking his last bite. Mr. Weasley waited for further explanation, and Harry could sense the others' eyes on him, too. Ginny stilled against his side as Harry thought of where to begin. He had not told them that he had had company in the Chamber of Secrets.

"Did Ron or Hermione ever tell you about . . . the Deathly Hallows?"

"The Deathly . . . Hallows?" repeated Mr. Weasley, who had clearly never heard the term. Harry wiped his hands to stall for a moment then addressed Mr. Weasley directly.

"Three powerfully magical items: the Cloak of Invisibility, the Elder Wand, and the Resurrection Stone. The cloak is the one I've always had, and Voldemort has the Elder Wand. He took it from Dumbledore's tomb – Dumbledore had it before him. Dumbledore had the stone, too, and he gave it to me – it was hidden inside the Snitch that he left me in his will, remember?"

Harry's audience was too captivated to answer, but he knew they understood.

"It's important that you know about the wand," Harry continued. "Mr. Ollivander said that it's been around for ages. It passes from wizard to wizard by violence; in order to use it properly, you have to take it from its previous owner against his will. If the wand recognizes you as the victor, it will let you use its full power."

"Ron mentioned the wand," said Bill with a glance at Charlie. "And there have been rumors that Voldemort has some kind of special wand, but we hoped that it was just superstition; a kid's story. It seemed like the kind of thing the Death Eaters might spread around just to scare people even more."

"Well, it's true," said Harry. "Voldemort was already strong before, but now that he has the Elder Wand . . ." Harry could not finish, because he didn't want to think of their foe as unstoppable. He looked away and shifted uncomfortably. "It's my fault, in a way. Taking the wand from Dumbledore's body didn't work – didn't give Voldemort access to its full power – because Dumbledore had been disarmed before he died. Draco had done it. And, later on, I disarmed Draco. So, without realizing it, I became the master of the Elder Wand. But then I was captured, and every day that Voldemort used the wand against me, he won more and more of its power. The wand figured out who had won and who had lost."

As had happened so often that day, Harry was met with silence. He had told them so many incredible things in such a short span of time that he wondered how much longer they would continue to believe him.

"You talk about the wand almost as if it's alive," said Percy in a tone of disbelief.

"Well, in a way, I suppose all wands are," shrugged Harry. "Ollivander and Dumbledore explained it to me, and I reckon they know more about wandlore than anyone."

Harry sighed and rested back into his chair.

"But I'm getting off the subject. You asked me how I know what I have to do. Dumbledore told me; he's known for years that I have to, well . . ." Looking into their faces and feeling Ginny's still form next to him, Harry could not bring himself to say the words yet again. "And he knew that the piece of soul can only be destroyed if Voldemort himself casts the curse. Dumbledore explained everything to me . . . um . . . _after_ he died."

Confused looks spread around the table.

"The last Hallow – the Resurrection Stone – it lets you talk to people who have died. I had it with me in the Chamber of Secrets. I used it to talk to Dumbledore all year . . . and my parents, Sirius, Remus . . ."

Speaking the names of his absent family caused Harry to miss them more than he had since he left the Resurrection Stone behind. But the pain was a comfort to Harry, because seeing them again was the last thing he had left to look forward to.

Harry paused to clear his throat when the stares that he received turned from confusion to concern; it seemed that his wild stories had finally gone too far. Some people appeared a bit frightened at the thought of communing with the dead – or perhaps their disturbed looks were because they feared for Harry's sanity.

"I'm not mental," Harry said flatly. "I know how it sounds, but I talked to Dumbledore every day. He continued to teach me down there; taught me how to do magic without a wand, even. That's how I escaped. And the others would visit just to . . . to help me get through it. They weren't supposed to, strictly speaking, but –"

"Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley softly interrupted, in a gentle but concerned voice that told Harry she remained thoroughly unconvinced. Harry could not blame her. "Just to be clear, you mean to say that . . . that Dumbledore's . . . ghost –"

"No," said Harry, frustrated. "Not _ghost_ . . ." He rubbed his face in exasperation; the strength he had gained from their support seemed to seep away as they refused to accept his words as the truth. "Ghosts are wizards who decided to stay behind instead of . . . of going _on_. Dumbledore, my parents – they're crossed over to the other side." Harry began to lose his concentration under the weight of the Weasleys' stares, which grew ever more skeptical. "They, um, weren't able to tell me what it's like . . . well, Fred says there are parties every night, but I can never tell if he's having me on or not."

"What?" whispered George.

Harry quickly retraced his last few words to figure out why seven pairs of eyes now looked at him as if he had pulled his wand on everyone. Harry cringed; how could he have been so insensitive?

"I . . . well," Harry stammered. "Fred was there, too. He . . . he popped in all the time."

"That's not funny," said Percy. His face was grim, and Harry saw echoes of the terrible pain Percy had shown while cradling Fred's lifeless body during the Death Eaters' invasion of Hogwarts.

Mr. Weasley's face had gone blank; Mrs. Weasley seemed to have stopped breathing.

Desperate for a sign of support, Harry looked sideways at Ginny and found her frozen with wide, watery eyes. But her face was slightly different from the others – there was no incredulity there, only shock. Could she possibly believe him? Galvanized by the thought, Harry's mind sped into motion, searching for some way to save the situation.

"He gave me a message," he blurted, as the memory suddenly rushed back to him. "Fred wanted me to tell you something if I got the chance."

The room remained motionless; the only sound was of Harry's own heavy heartbeat.

"Um," Harry hesitated, realizing too late how badly Fred's words were sure to go over. Everyone would certainly think he was a nutter, now. "It's a bit odd, but he wanted me to tell you . . . um . . ." Harry winced.

"Minty fresh."

Harry's heart sank as the faces around the table failed to change. Even in death, it seemed that Fred could not pass up the opportunity to pull an easy prank. Harry fleetingly wondered if the trickster was watching the scene from beyond, doubled over with laughter at Harry's delivery of the nonsensical punch line.

But if this had been Fred's idea of a joke, it seemed that someone had gotten it. A burst of laughter made everyone jump as George rocked back in his chair and convulsed in apparent mirth. The others looked as bewildered as Harry at such a reaction. George continued to shudder in his chair, and sobs began to punctuate his laughs. He wiped his cheeks as tears began to fall, and just when he appeared to have regained control, he fell forward onto the table and laughed even harder than before. Some of the others began to smile slightly, even as their brows creased in confusion.

"S-sorry," George choked, finally appearing to pull himself together. He kept a wide smile as he sat back up and wiped at fresh tears. "Ohhh, God . . . I can't believe it. You really did talk to him, didn't you?"

"Yeah," said Harry, his panic ebbing. "I did."

"George," said Mr. Weasley. "What . . ."

"It's stupid, really," said George, still hiccupping sporadic sniggers. "It was sometime after we went into hiding at Muriel's. Fred and I were lying awake talking one night, and, I dunno, I suppose I was in a bit of a mood. Everything was going the Death Eaters' way, we had just abandoned the shop, and it was no big treat having Muriel around, badgering us. It felt like things would only get worse. We talked about, well, death. We'd lost Mad-Eye and I had a close call when I lost my ear. I asked Fred what he thought dying would feel like. I think he noticed how down I was, because he asked _me_ what I thought dying would _taste_ like. I reckoned that it tasted like bubotuber pus or Filch's underpants, but Fred said he was feeling optimistic, and that he thought death would have a minty-fresh flavor. It was only funny because it was four in the morning. We laughed about it and went to sleep."

George sniffled and let out a long sigh.

"If Fred can say that now . . . then I suppose he really is all right, wherever he is."

There was a moment's pause, and then the room was filled with mingled cries, both joyous and mournful. Bill beamed while Charlie shook his head and chuckled at the continuing antics of his late brother. Percy removed his glasses and held his face in his hands, but Harry could still spot a smile. Mr. Weasley, tears spilling down his cheeks, gave Harry a grateful grin as he held his sobbing wife. Ginny cried on Harry's shoulder as she laughed. They were the sounds of relief as, at long last, the hole in the family finally began to heal.

Harry silently thanked Fred for giving him one last gift to leave with the family that meant so much.

* * *

That night, Harry sat alone on the bed in Fred and George's old room, where he had previously stayed during the summer before his sixth year at Hogwarts. The room was emptier than it had been then with just a few pieces of mismatched furniture and a small oil lamp that cast the room in a low light from its place upon the nightstand. The Burrow had a bit of space to spare since the Weasleys' usual houseguests were still away at Shell Cottage, so Harry had the room to himself. It was the first time he had been on his own since his shower earlier that day, and he used the silence and absence of questioning eyes to ponder everything that had happened.

The thought that the coming week would bring his final confrontation with Voldemort still rattled him, but the initial shock of the timeline had faded so that Harry felt only a little more trepidation than usual – he had long been used to the fact that he had to die.

It would, of course, hurt more to leave now that everyone was aware he still lived, just as Harry had known it would. It had been easier for him to think he had nothing to lose when he was alone, even when watching the others from afar. But now that Harry had been welcomed back with open arms and a lot of tears, it would take a monumental effort for him to cut himself loose once again – not only because of what it would do to the ones he loved, but also because of how much Harry had realized he needed them. Despite the fear and desperation he had woken up to, Harry now felt stronger and more at peace than he had since his school days, and it was all due to the support of the best family he had ever known.

His biggest worries were the state of Hermione and how cold Ron had been to him. Harry dwelled on them all day, but had so far been unable to come up with words that were at all adequate for what he had done to them. Little as though Harry felt he deserved their friendship at the moment, he promised himself that he would try his best to make things right with them in the time he had left.

Best and worst of all was the incalculable power that Ginny held over him. She had said very little since their private talk outside, but simply having her near made Harry feel like an entirely different person. His steps were lighter, his heartbeat stronger, and every breath of air tasted sweeter – or perhaps he was simply more aware of everything when she was close by. During his year spent searching for Horcruxes, and his following year in captivity, Ginny had grown to symbolize everything that Harry wanted in life, everything he was fighting for. To walk alongside her now – when his life was near its end – was both a blessing and a cruel irony.

Ginny had not left Harry's side until ten minutes ago, when Mrs. Weasley had asked for her help in getting everyone settled for the night. Harry had missed her instantly, but was partially thankful to have some time to himself since, for better or worse, he had trouble focusing his thoughts when Ginny was around.

Sighing and setting his glasses next to his wand on the nightstand, Harry stood and began to change into a plain white t-shirt and a pair of Ron's old pajama bottoms that Mrs. Weasley had scavenged for him. As he stripped off his clothes, Harry thought of how different dinner had been compared to lunch. Fred's message had worked wonders with the Weasleys, and by the time they had reconvened for the final meal of the day, they seemed almost cheerful as they discussed the daunting tasks before them. Harry had been asked to answer a few more questions, but nothing that troubled him too much to answer.

There was a small knock at the door just as Harry pulled on his shirt. Rather than call out and disturb the complete quiet of the house, Harry stepped to the door and pulled it open. It was Ginny, balancing a small bottle on a pile of fresh bed sheets. She smiled.

"Can I come in?" she whispered.

"Yeah, of course," said Harry, stepping aside to clear a path. Ginny entered the room and closed the door. She sat the sheets on a nearby desk then lifted the bottle to the light and scrutinized its contents as she swished them around.

"Madame Pomfrey left this for you to take before bed," she said, turning toward him. Harry took the bottle and uncorked it. "Mum says it's only for tonight, just to be on the safe side."

Harry had downed the entire dose before Ginny finished her explanation, which he had not really heard. Distracted as he was by the way her hair played with the flickering light of the lamp, Harry would have drunk anything she might have handed him. But as beautiful as she was, Harry saw that her eyes were red again. Had she been crying? And the labored way in which Ginny moved signaled that she was exhausted.

"Here, I'll do that," said Harry, taking one of the old sheets from her as she began to pull it off the bed. "You look like you're about to pass out, Ginny."

"I'm fine," she protested, but allowed Harry to help her. They changed the sheets together, and afterward, Ginny sat on the bed and fell back onto it with her eyes closed. Harry followed her example and the two of them lay next to each other, facing the ceiling. After a minute, Harry spoke.

"You're asleep, aren't you?" he whispered in a teasing tone. "I warned you. Now you're stuck here."

"Hmm," replied Ginny in a tone that indicated the idea was not unpleasant. Her eyes remained closed but the corners of her lips curved up slightly.

Harry swallowed and the room fell silent for another minute or two, until . . .

"Harry . . ."

The change in her voice suggested the coming of a serious, and possibly difficult, question.

"Are you sure that it's still there? The . . . the piece of his soul? It wasn't destroyed when you were brought back?"

"I'm sure," sighed Harry. "I can . . . _feel_ it in me. It's tough to explain, but somehow, I'm even more aware of it now than I was before. You know, I still don't really understand what happened to me or how I snapped out of it . . ."

"Fred and the others who died," Ginny began, changing the subject. "Can they see us?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "Yeah, they can. Well, Fred can see _you_, at least – your family. Anyone he felt especially close to when he was here; anyone he loved. I doubt that he can see me, except when I'm with you."

Ginny considered this for a moment, her eyes now open and staring blankly at the ceiling.

"I'll bet he can," she said. "I'll bet that Fred can see you as well as he can the rest of us."

The thought embarrassed Harry a little, but he was touched by the sentiment.

"Dumbledore can see you," Ginny added, as if she just remembered that particular detail from what Harry had said about his time in the Chamber of Secrets.

"Yeah," said Harry with a small smile. "I suppose he can."

"It's nice to know that the people we love never really leave us," said Ginny. "Even . . . even if _we_ can't see _them_ anymore."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. Ginny had turned toward dangerous territory; Harry was not yet ready to talk to her about his impending departure.

"Do you think they're watching us right now?" she asked. "Fred, or your parents, or . . ."

"Um, I doubt it. They usually only check in from time to time. They give us our privacy."

"That's a relief, I suppose," Ginny said with a soft chuckle.

Another quiet stretch followed, but far from feeling as though he had to fill the void, Harry was relaxed in the comfortable silence.

"Did they ever see me when I was with you?" asked Ginny. "Your parents, I mean. Did they say anything about me?"

Harry did not immediately answer.

"That bad?" said Ginny.

"No, no – it's not that. It's . . . they _adore_ you, Ginny." Harry gave a short laugh. "Mum wouldn't shut up about you, actually. She had Sirius and Remus tell her everything they knew about you, and Tonks wouldn't stop talking you up."

Ginny looked sideways at Harry with a radiant smile.

"Really?" she said, sounding delighted. "I always thought your mum looked so pretty in your old pictures. I wish I could have met her."

"She'd have loved that," said Harry, grinning back. He rolled onto his side to face her and propped up his head up with his hand. He had left his glasses off, but at this distance he did not need them. Ginny mirrored his movement, and the two gazed at each other for several moments. It struck Harry that they had not been together like this since those late nights in the Gryffindor common room, in what felt like several lifetimes ago. As Harry watched the lamplight melt in her chocolate eyes, the worried thoughts that usually buzzed around in his head were smothered by a rising need to act, not think – to take her hand or touch her hair, which fanned out on the bed in the space between them. But before Harry could follow his impulses, Ginny acted first.

Slowly, Ginny raised her hand to Harry's face and softly slid her fingertips over the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. Harry closed his eyes and savored the sensation as she touched him.

"Does it still hurt?"

"Not . . . not really," Harry answered, disappointed when her fingers pulled away. "Not for a long time."

"Why? What changed?"

Harry drew a deep breath and gathered his wits.

"A couple of things. For one, Voldemort began to block me out. He must have finally realized how much I had used the connection to keep track of what he was up to, because I tried to spy on him after I was captured but I couldn't break through. And second . . ."

Harry paused as he remembered digging Dobby's grave at Shell Cottage, and how, wrought with grief, he had found that his feelings for his fallen friend had at last closed his mind to Voldemort.

"Well," Harry continued. "He can't affect me when I think about . . . people that I love." Staring deep into Ginny's eyes as he spoke, Harry's words were the closest he had ever come to declaring his feelings to her. It did not elicit the reaction he might have expected or hoped for, however, as Ginny's eyes began to shimmer with unshed tears.

"You . . . you really don't remember what happened yesterday?" Ginny asked. "After you came back?"

Her voice had become so despondent that Harry's heart began to beat faster in alarm. He could tell that something weighed heavily upon her.

"Kind of. It's all just . . . jumbled," Harry began, fumbling for the right words. "Why? Ginny – what did I do?"

Ginny sobbed a mirthless laugh and rolled onto her front, burying her face in the bed and folding her arms around her head.

"Please don't try to blame yourself for this one," she said in a muffled voice. Harry heard a small sniffle, and then Ginny turned her head enough for one eye to peek at him over her shoulder.

"I . . . I tried to kill you, Harry. Avada Kedavra. I did it; I cast an Unforgivable Curse." A single tear slid down her face and out of view. "I thought you were dead – we all did. I d-don't know why you aren't."

As Harry sat, stunned, absorbing her broken whispers, he saw Ginny's face in his mind's eye. It was twisted in rage . . . she was screaming . . . and then there was a flash of brightest green . . .

"Oh," Harry said simply, startled by the memory that had resurfaced. He replayed the scene in his head a few more times, trying to make sense of it. His attention was brought back to the present when he heard Ginny begin to cry in earnest.

"Listen," Harry said softly, resting a hand on Ginny's quivering back. "You can't blame yourself for that. The way that I showed up here, tearing through the wards – after all those murders by people made to look like me – of course you would have defended yourself. It's _my_ fault, Ginny –"

Ginny made a sound between a painful moan and a growl of frustration as she hid her face completely in the bed again and crossed her arms over her head.

"Ginny, really – please don't beat yourself up over this; it'll just make me feel worse than I already do. You couldn't have really killed me; you're just not capable of casting a spell like that. You're too _good_."

He said the words because he thought Ginny needed to hear them, but Harry was not sure if he believed them. The spell in his memory certainly looked like a true Killing Curse, and he still did not understand exactly what had happened to him.

Ginny's face resurfaced and her wet eyes bored into Harry's.

"If I had r-really done it," said Ginny, her voice breaking. "If you had died . . . I w-would have –"

Desperate to stop her suffering but unable to think of any words that might help, Harry acted on his lingering impulses and kissed her. The kiss was very gentle – just enough to silence her – but Harry continued to hold it after Ginny stopped speaking. Very slowly, Harry began to move his lips softly against hers, and a moment later, she hesitantly responded in kind.

It was a very sweet, subdued kiss that ached with the pain and longing they had both suffered through for so long. Harry tasted the salt from Ginny's tears upon her lips, and he reached up, cupped a hand to her face, and brushed his thumb across her wet cheek as the kiss continued. In turn, Ginny threaded her fingers into the back of his hair and held him more firmly against her lips.

His eyes closed in bliss, Harry existed only in the feel of her . . . the smell of her . . . the taste. It was a thousand times better than his memories or fantasies. He put everything that he had denied himself into the kiss. For those endless moments, Harry allowed himself to simply _be_ without any restrictions or compromises. He did not want to stop, did not want to let her go, for as long as he had left.

Too soon, Ginny pulled away, tugging her bottom lip free from the grip of Harry's continuing kiss. She gave a small gasp as she drew a quick breath. Her freckled cheeks were flushed, and her lips slightly swollen.

"Harry –"

But Harry kissed her again before she could say any more. He could not stem the flow of unchecked emotion he had unleashed; the moment's pause had been like taking water away from a man dying of thirst. His lips moved with even more fervor than before, drinking her in with every movement of his mouth. Ginny did not protest, and she quickly caught up to his pace.

They continued like that for some time, occasionally taking in air as their mouths shaped around each other again and again. Eventually the movements shortened into smaller kisses that Harry spread along her lips and jaw. The powerful need that had awoken in Harry was still far from satisfied, but he had had enough to temporarily rein in his desire. They were both smiling as they moved apart just far enough to see each other clearly. Harry was unwilling to break contact with her completely, and alternated between caressing her hair and rubbing her arm.

"Ginny . . . listen," Harry said quietly, his smile evening out into a somewhat serious, albeit pleased, expression. "You were right, before – we can't keep torturing ourselves. What's done is done, and . . . what will come, will come. What matters is that we make the most of our time together. Right?"

Sniffling but still smiling, Ginny nodded and placed a hand over Harry's heart. Her gaze followed her fingers as they absently began to pick at his shirt.

"I want to stay in here tonight," she said, seemingly unable to meet his eyes. Harry was glad that she had looked away because he wasn't sure what expression he wore.

"Okay," he breathed.

Smiling slightly but still not looking at him, Ginny sat up and slid off the edge of the bed. She gathered the clump of old sheets in her arms and stopped in the doorway to throw Harry a last look over her shoulder.

"Just give me a few minutes, all right? I'll be right back."

She did not wait for a reply before exiting the room, leaving Harry both elated and anxious. Despite the passion they had just shown for each other, Harry knew that neither of them was ready to take things any further, not after he had just come back, and when they were still dealing with so much. But she must have intended to share his bed, for it was the only piece of furniture in the room suitable for sleeping. Harry had never slept beside anyone before. Even as a child, he had not had parents whose bed he could climb into after a nightmare. He was momentarily mesmerized by the thought of sharing something so intimate with the girl who could make him feel happy and whole with the slightest look or touch.

Harry resurfaced from his reverie when he thought he heard a small creak come from somewhere downstairs – the sound of a potential footstep on some old, worn floorboard. Harry reasoned that the noise was probably caused by Ginny since everyone else had gone to sleep, but even the remote chance of someone catching her in his room caused Harry to extinguish the lamp and get into bed. He lay perfectly still and watched the empty, open doorframe by the dim light of the moon, waiting for Ginny to return.

After several more minutes, Harry heard soft footsteps ascend the stairs to the landing, and her slim silhouette finally appeared in the darkened doorway. Harry could just make out the outline of her long hair and the shape of a sheer nightdress, which, in the moonlight, did nothing to conceal the shadowed shape of the body underneath. Harry's mouth was suddenly very dry; he swallowed and remained frozen on the bed as she slowly moved into the room with an ethereal grace. She stepped directly into a beam of moonlight, and Harry saw her fully.

For an impossibly long moment, Harry stared into Fleur's wide-eyed face. Then, slowly, his gaze traveled down her arm to the wand in her hand, which was raised toward him. It quivered a millisecond before she cast her curse.

Harry shook free from his shock just in time to roll away from the jet of green light, which blasted a smoldering hole in the wall above the headboard and sent a booming sound through the house. Harry dodged a second attack as he continued to roll across the bed, then he fell to the floor and was hidden from view. More streaks of green light flashed overhead as Harry remained crouched. He could hear Fleur advancing toward his position and knew that he had only a second before she reached him. Flattening himself to the floor, Harry kicked away from the wall and slid out from behind the foot of the bed. He attempted to fire a wandless Stunning Spell . . . but nothing happened.

Harry now lay exposed at Fleur's feet. He looked up into her cold, piercing stare as she lowered her wand to point directly at him.

"_Expelliarmus_!"

Fleur's hand was suddenly empty as Ginny rushed into the room brandishing her wand. She had returned wearing the old, oversized t-shirt of Harry's that she usually slept in, and she appeared every bit as shocked at Fleur's actions as Harry.

Ginny's gaze flickered to Harry, and in that instant Fleur lunged at her with an uncharacteristic savagery. So forceful was the attack that both girls slammed hard into the wall and fell to the floor in a heap, with Ginny taking the brunt of the blow.

While Harry scrambled to his feet and ran toward them, Fleur wrested away Ginny's wand and took aim at him from the floor. Harry threw himself sideways to dodge yet another Killing Curse and crashed into the dresser, which banged hard against the wall under Harry's impact. Fleur leaned against the far wall as she pushed herself up on unsteady legs. Ginny, shaking off whatever pain or injury she had sustained, was also climbing to her feet, and she clinched Fleur's wrist to keep the wand pointed at the floor. Harry took his chance and bolted toward them, ready to seize Fleur's arms and help Ginny subdue her. But a step away from reaching his target, Harry was shoved aside by Bill, who entered the room cradling Victoire in one arm and was followed closely by the rest of his family.

"What's going on?" he demanded. "That's my _wife_ –"

Before Harry could begin to explain, Fleur drove her forehead into Ginny's face and freed the contested wand. In one fluid motion, she snatched the child from her stunned husband, spun away from the group, and backed slowly into the room, her eyes flickering from face to face like a cornered animal. She became agitated and repeatedly hit the side of her head with the fist that clenched Ginny's wand. She looked crazed, desperate . . .

And then Fleur raised the stolen wand to her daughter's throat.

"Fleur!" cried Bill. Similar shouts came from the rest of the group – Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had rushed through the door to stand beside Bill, followed by Percy, George, and even Hermione, who leaned on Ron. With his horrified eyes locked on his wife, Bill stretched his arms out to his sides to signal that nobody should step forward.

"Fleur," he pleaded. "Put the wand down, honey. _Please_. You don't want to hurt Victoire . . ."

Fleur's eyes continued to dart around, and she looked entirely unhinged as blood began to trickle down the center of her face from the spot where her head had hit Ginny's. She tightened her grip on Victoire and the infant began to cry.

"Move away from 'Arry Potter," Fleur demanded, in a tone that held none of the appeal of her usual part-Veela voice.

She had nearly backed herself into the corner of the room, and Harry worried about what Fleur would do once she was totally trapped. He began to move through the crowd that had gathered before him but was immediately seized by several hands. Ginny stepped in front of Harry and stared defiantly at Fleur.

"Put our daughter down," Bill continued to beg, sounding ever more desperate. "Just put her down and we can talk about this, all right?"

"MOVE, I SAID!" Fleur screamed the words with a sudden fury that sent a jolt through everyone in the room. Her face flashed through several emotions – rage, confusion, and fear – before going blank. She leveled a cold, killing stare at Harry.

"_Please_ honey; just give her to me," Bill pressed on, ignoring Fleur's command. "I won't let anyone hurt you; you _know_ that . . ." He took a tentative step forward with his arms held up in a peaceful gesture.

"'Arry Potter 'as to DIE," she spat, and her wand tip glowed brightly against Victoire's skin, turning the girl's cries into a wail of pain.

"ALL RIGHT!" shouted Bill in alarm. "All right! Just put her down and you can have him!"

"GIVE ME 'ARRY POTTER!" Fleur shrieked, and the violent side of her Veela heritage pushed through to twist her face into something terrible. She whipped her wand toward Bill with a crazed, murderous look in her eyes.

"_ACCIO_!"

Bill leapt forward to catch his daughter, who flew from Fleur's hands at Mrs. Weasley's hastily cast Summoning Charm. Fleur screamed and threw a Killing Curse at them both, which splintered the dresser that someone had quickly thought to fling in front of them. A moment later Mr. Weasley connected with a disarming spell, and the rest of the group sprang into action. George and Charlie reached Fleur first, followed by Ron and Harry, who each tried to constrain some wild part of her that whipped around as she shrieked and struggled. Bill quickly handed Victoire to Mrs. Weasley and pushed through to his wife, shoving the others out of the way as he got his arms around Fleur and lifted her off the ground. Unable to pull her arms free, Fleur kicked wildly at her husband's legs and even bit him on the cheek, drawing blood.

"Somebody _stun_ her," called Bill. "She's going to hurt herself if she keeps this up!"

"I can't get a clear shot," said Percy, tracking both Fleur and Bill with his wand.

Bill yelled in pain as Fleur freed a hand and raked her nails across his face. "Just DO IT!" he shouted.

Percy's spell hit its mark, and Fleur instantly went limp in her husband's arms. Bill gazed in horror at his wife while Harry and the others stepped away. Then, with pleading eyes, Bill turned to his mother.

"Victoire –"

"S-she seems all right," said Mrs. Weasley, who examined her crying granddaughter while clutching her close.

"Make sure, mum," said Bill, who then closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. "Somebody . . . somebody get hold of Kingsley – he might be the only one who can break an Imperius this strong." Bill repositioned Fleur's limp form in his arms and marched toward the door. "Charlie, help me secure her in case she comes around." Everyone stood stunned for one long moment after Bill exited the room, then, as one, they sped into action and followed him through the doorway.

Ginny stood on her bare toes and clung to Harry with what felt like all of her strength, as if treasuring the fact that he had survived the attack. Harry returned her hug just as desperately, absentmindedly rubbing her back as he wrestled with his role in what had happened.

Mr. Weasley approached Harry and gently grasped his arm by the elbow. "Please stay in here for now, Harry," he said. "Kingsley will be coming, and after what just happened, the fewer people who know about you right now, the better." Mr. Weasley released Harry, gave him a pat on the shoulder, and touched Ginny's head in a comforting gesture before following the last of the crowd from the room. Harry knew a new shame as he watched the man close the door behind him. Harry's very presence had put Mr. Weasley's entire family in danger, and here Harry stood, unable to help and embracing the man's daughter, who had been found wearing very little in the room Harry had so graciously been given.

Only Ron and Hermione remained in the room with Harry and Ginny, and a heavy silence fell between them. While the rest of the family took care of the situation, Ron tended to Hermione, who was winded and wincing in discomfort. Ron helped her to the edge of the bed where she sat and gave a small sigh of relief.

"Thank God the two of you are all right," she said, looking from Ginny to Harry. "What happened?"

"No idea," said Harry. "Fleur just came in and started throwing curses. She . . . she was aiming to kill. Ginny saved my life . . ." Harry looked down at the girl who still clung to him, and she gazed up at him with watery eyes. With a jolt, Harry saw blood begin to drip from her nose. "Are you okay?" he asked frantically, taking Ginny by the shoulders and pushing her back to look her over.

"Just . . . a bit sore, I think," said Ginny, tentatively touching her face.

Harry scanned the room for something he could use to deal with the blood, but Ron quickly moved to the door and opened it long enough to summon a towel from elsewhere in the house. "Thanks," said Harry as he took the towel and tended to Ginny. Ron simply nodded and – with a glance at his sister to make certain she was okay – turned his attention back to Hermione.

Harry sat with Ginny at the opposite end of the bed and stared deep into her eyes as he cleaned her blood and examined her. He checked and rechecked every curve of her face, every freckle, trying to shake off the fear he had felt when Ginny threw herself into the midst of Fleur's murderous rampage. The couple did not talk as the minutes dragged on, but clung closely together, lost in thought – Ginny with her head on Harry's shoulder, and Harry absentmindedly fidgeting with his wand, which he had retrieved from the nightstand.

Time seemed to hang in the aftershock of what had happened, and Harry had no idea how long they had waited when the door once again opened. George entered alongside his father, who looked older than Harry had ever seen him. With a weary wave of his wand, Mr. Weasley conjured a wooden chair and sat near the center of the bed between the two couples. George cast a spell to assemble the scattered pieces of the dresser, and once it was repaired, he perched himself upon it.

"How is Fleur?" asked Harry.

"She'll be all right," said Mr. Weasley in a very somber tone. "We were quite worried for a while – the Imperius Curse was the strongest any of us have ever seen – but Kingsley managed to break it, in the end. Kingsley is gone, now," he added, looking at Harry. "So it's safe to leave the room. Actually, it wouldn't have mattered if Kingsley had seen you, Harry, since Fleur is confident that she was Voldemort's only spy; she's been the one feeding him information all along."

Everyone kept quiet as Mr. Weasley began the story of how Fleur had come to be under the Dark Lord's control. She had remembered everything once Kingsley freed her: how a Death Eater had infiltrated a group of Muggle-borns that were harbored at Shell Cottage, and how he had caught Fleur alone and cast the Imperius. Fleur had later been instructed to sneak away from the protection of the cottage's Fidelius Charm so that Voldemort could take command of her directly. He had remained in contact with her through an enchanted handheld mirror.

"No one would have ever suspected the object," Mr. Weasley explained. "Fleur kept it out in the open on her dressing table. She was told to contact Voldemort only at nighttime when she would normally be asleep. Fleur never remembered her actions the next day, and didn't notice any blackouts or missing time because she would have been sleeping. She spent months as a spy for the other side and never knew it, reporting the comings and goings of everyone in the Order and passing along all our plans." Mr. Weasley paused to give a heavy sigh. "We're very lucky that she wasn't able to give him the location of Shell Cottage, the Burrow, or any of our other safe houses, because she isn't Secret Keeper."

"Thank God for that," said Ginny.

Her father nodded his agreement, then leaned forward in his chair and looked down at his clasped hands.

"Hermione," he said, adopting a consolatory tone as he raised his eyes to her. "The rest . . . won't be easy for you to hear."

Hermione held his gaze, but blindly sought out Ron's hand and clenched her fingers around it. She gave Mr. Weasley a small nod and he continued.

"After you escaped from Hogwarts with Harry, Voldemort guessed that you both might come here. When Fleur heard from Bill that you had arrived with a boy we didn't know, Voldemort ordered her to keep an eye on the two of you; he suspected Harry's true identity but wanted to be sure before he risked showing his hand. Around that time, we finished building the secure Floo Network between Order of the Phoenix locations. This played right into Voldemort's hands. He had Fleur use the connection to visit your parents' house during the night and place them under the Imperius Curse."

"That's how V-Voldemort found our house, then," Hermione whispered, her eyes wet and her face white. "Dad was Secret Keeper . . ."

"Hermione," said Mr. Weasley, who removed his glasses to wipe at his own wet eyes. "You don't know how much I regret not taking on that responsibility myself. But your father insisted that he be entrusted with the safety of his own home – I think it made him feel as though he was taking part in all of this instead of being cared for by the Order all the time – and once the spell is cast, you don't need to be a wizard to be Secret Keeper . . ."

Hermione said nothing, but tears began to fall down her frozen face. With a hand still in one of hers, Ron put an arm around Hermione and held her firmly against his side.

"Well," sighed Mr. Weasley. "You can imagine what happened next. Fleur ordered your father to owl his address to Voldemort, which broke the Fidelius. Voldemort then visited your parents and, as with Fleur, put them under his direct control. He enchanted their bathroom mirror to work the same way as Fleur's smaller mirror and left them with orders to contact him if you returned there with Harry or any other boy. Voldemort next told Fleur to find a reason to come to the Burrow so that she could observe you and Harry in person, and she found her excuse after the Dementor attack, when Bill stayed here to work on the wards."

"Wait a minute," said Ron. "Bill is Secret Keeper for both our house and Shell Cottage, right? Couldn't Fleur have just Imperiused him and gotten him to give up the locations to Voldemort?"

"Yes . . . but it seems clear that Voldemort wanted to keep a very light touch on things here to ensure that his spy would not be discovered. He didn't think that we posed a threat as long as Fleur kept him informed of our movements, and if he had wanted to attack us, he could have simply had Fleur do his dirty work for him. In fact, that was to be her final mission, tonight."

Mr. Weasley appeared as though he needed to gather himself before he could go on, and Harry noticed George shift uneasily on the dresser.

"Last night," continued Mr. Weasley, "when Fleur reported to Voldemort that Hermione and Harry had returned, he gave her his final order: if Harry at any point regained consciousness, Fleur was to wait until we were all asleep, then kill him . . . followed by the rest of us. And once we were all dead, she was to turn her wand on herself."

Mr. Weasley slouched back into his chair as his revelation sent a chill through the room. The thought of how close his entire family had come to being murdered drained what little color he had left.

"Of course," Harry said bitterly. "After we fought, Voldemort must have decided that keeping his last Horcrux around wasn't worth the danger of letting me live outside his control. But if he could have had me as a vegetable – nothing more than a living, breathing box to keep him unkillable – then why not?"

"And once you were gone," said Mr. Weasley, "it wouldn't have been worth the risk to keep us around any longer, either. Voldemort thought he had us under control, but even though he knew of our plan to raid Hogwarts, we still managed to strike a major blow. He had always planned to have Fleur finish us sooner or later."

"I reckon that, with his big day coming up, Voldemort was looking to get his house in order," said George, speaking for the first time. "Nobody is as tied up in the Order as our family; if we were gone, it'd be a huge blow to the resistance."

Harry felt his stomach clench at the thought of a world without the Weasleys. "I can't . . ." he began before shaking his head and starting over. "If any of you had gotten hurt because of my being here –"

"Don't be daft," scolded George.

"Actually, Harry," said Mr. Weasley. "You could say that having you here saved all our lives. Although it took a bit of luck, no one was seriously hurt. Who's to say what would have happened if Fleur had been ordered to kill us without you here? Would we have been as fortunate? Had it been any normal night, no one would have been up at this late hour to stop her." His eyes flitted to Ginny, which confirmed that Mr. Weasley knew his daughter had been with Harry. "And if he _hadn't_ ordered Fleur to kill us, she would have told him everything about the attack we're planning, which would have been just as bad for us in the end."

Harry considered Mr. Weasley's words and was somewhat heartened when he could not immediately find any loopholes in the man's logic.

"Hold on," said Ron, sounding as if something had just occurred to him. "What'll happen when Fleur doesn't get back to Voldemort tonight with an update?"

"Ah, well," said Mr. Weasley, and Harry was surprised to see a faint smile appear on the man's face. "That's the only good thing to come out of this. Remember: if Fleur's mission had succeeded tonight, it would have ended with her death, too. When Voldemort doesn't hear from her, he should assume that all went according to plan. Having him think we're dead gives us an advantage."

It _was_ good news, but at the moment, it mattered little to Harry or, he was sure, any of the others. One of the Weasleys' own had been forced to turn against them, and the fact that Fleur had been used that way was devastating. Mr. Weasley appeared to have run out of things to say as everyone sat in silence, considering everything that had just been revealed. Ron continued to comfort Hermione, until – minutes later – she spoke in a weak voice from his shoulder.

"I . . . I should talk to Fleur," she said, sniffling. "Tell her that none of this is her fault; that I don't blame her."

"I don't think that would be for the best, just yet," said Mr. Weasley. "Fleur feels . . . well, awful isn't a strong enough word. She hates herself for what she's done. She doesn't want to see anyone; she won't allow Bill to bring Victoire anywhere near her. Just . . . just give it a little time; let Bill talk to her. When she's ready, I think it _would_ help for you to see her, Hermione – if you feel up to it."

"It isn't her fault," said Hermione, staring listlessly into the room. "Without help from someone like Kingsley . . .Voldemort's control is absolute."

At those words, Harry thought he saw an even darker shadow fall across Hermione's face. He was sure that she was thinking of her parents and how, on Voldemort's orders, they had tried their best to murder their own daughter. Harry clenched his fists. It all came back to Voldemort, who had hunted, murdered, or somehow tainted everyone that he, Harry, cared for. At that moment, Harry could have joyfully thrown himself in front of the Killing Curse if it meant that Tom Riddle would soon follow him into death.

"Maybe I can get Fleur to talk to _me_," said Ginny, startling Harry from his thoughts. "I've . . . well . . . I know what it's like to have spent a long time under his control. Maybe I can help."

The anger that had flared within Harry cooled instantly when he thought of Ginny having to relive the nightmare that had been her first year at Hogwarts.

"You don't have to," he said automatically.

"I know," she said, squeezing his hand as she looked at him. "But I want to, if it'll help."

"You may be right," said Mr. Weasley, although it was clear on his face that he, too, hated the thought of Ginny having to revisit the subject. "It might be just what Fleur needs to hear right now."

Ginny stood and Harry rose beside her. They held each other for a moment, and Harry put as much into the hug as he could in the hope that it might help her during the coming conversation.

"I'll come right back when I'm done," she told him, seemingly without a care that the others knew she would be with Harry later that night. It was hard for Harry to watch Ginny go when he suspected that, at that moment, she needed him as much as he needed her.

Mr. Weasley and George left as well, but not before the latter surprised Harry with a quick, heartfelt hug of his own. Harry nodded his appreciation to George when they separated, and was then left in the room with just Ron and Hermione. As the sounds of the exiting party's footsteps faded down the stairs, Harry realized that he was alone with his two best friends for the first time since they had both learned his true identity.

Harry glanced around, not knowing what to do with himself. Without Ginny to join him, he suddenly felt as though he was intruding on the room's only remaining couple. The thought stung, because the three of them had once been inseparable; three parts of a whole. Harry still was not sure how to approach Ron, and he had come no further in figuring out how to face Hermione.

Harry stalled for time by idly examining the reconstructed dresser. An uncomfortable minute ticked by, and then Harry began to hear fervent whispering behind him, making him feel even more like an outsider. Without a look toward the bed, Harry stepped to the door and had it halfway open when Ron's voice stopped him.

"Harry . . . you know you're an idiot, right?"

Harry did not turn around as he held onto the doorknob.

"Yeah."

Harry heard more whispers – Hermione's – but Ron spoke over them, ignoring what she had to say.

"I thought we were a team," Ron continued, and pain laced his anger. He rose to his feet but remained at Hermione's side. "I thought you trusted me."

Harry was not surprised to hear the words as they tore through him; they were what he deserved. And because he had earned them, he could not leave until Ron had his say.

"To be honest," Ron pressed on, "I can't decide what upsets me more, Harry: that Hermione is laid up like this . . . or that it's not me in her place."

"Ron," gasped Hermione, stunned.

"I left you behind when the Death Eaters took Hogwarts," said Ron, sounding broken as his pent up words spilled out at Harry. "And I spent a year knowing that I'd failed my best friend; that I'd left him to die. I swore that I wouldn't let it happen again – that next time, I'd be able to protect the people that I care about. I swore it on your _grave_, Harry. I busted my ass every day to get better so that, next time, I could make a difference. And then, to not even have the chance to . . . to do something, _anything_ that might have kept Hermione from . . ." Ron gestured feebly at his girlfriend's scarred appearance, and tears fell down his face.

Hermione rose to her knees behind Ron and draped herself over his shoulders, wrapping her arms around his neck. Ron reached an arm up to place a hand on her head, but looked back to Harry.

"I c-can't just sit by and watch everyone get hurt, Harry," Ron said with a sniffle. "I would've thought that you'd understand that."

Harry understood all too well. With a great effort, he turned around and looked at Ron, whose freckled face was blotchy; his red-eyed gaze desperate and pleading.

"Just . . . just don't do it again, all right?" Ron begged. "You have to let me help . . . we have to be a _team_ again."

Harry approached Ron, willing to do anything but still unsure of what to say, how best to apologize. Words were not needed, however, as Ron swung an arm around Harry the moment he stepped close enough. Harry was pulled into Hermione's embrace as well, and the trio held onto each other tightly amid mingled sobs and sniffles.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered through ragged breaths. "Hermione, I'm so s-sorry."

Harry felt Ron squeeze his shoulder.

"You _saved_ her, Harry."

Hermione was unable to speak through her sobs, but she also signaled her thanks with a tighter squeeze. The three friends continued to hug for a while longer, then slowly separated with Harry and Ron trading pats on the back. All of them wiped at tears but wore smiles.

"You were right, Hermione," said Harry, remorsefully. "I should never have kept this from Ron and Ginny."

"Well, I should've guessed," said Ron with a slanting smile. "That James bloke was too good to be true. I mean, _another_ Cannons fan? At this point I've got to be the only one left."

Harry chuckled.

"Hey," said Ron, with such excitement that it was impossible to tell that he and Harry had been anything but the best of friends all this time. "Hermione told me that you've got some wicked new powers; that you held your own against You-Know-Who, even though he had the Elder Wand."

It was a testament to how much their rekindled friendship meant to Harry that the subject did not completely erase the smile from his face.

"Yeah," he sighed. "About that . . ."

"What is it, Harry?" Hermione asked when he did not immediately continue. "What's wrong?"

Harry looked into their curious eyes for a moment before going on. In truth, he felt that saying it and seeing their faces would be worse than the problem itself.

"Well . . . I've been feeling strange all day, ever since I woke up, and I didn't know why until I tried to defend myself against Fleur. It never occurred to me before, because I hadn't tried to cast any spells. But while we were sitting in here, waiting, I tried over and over with my wand . . ." Harry let out a deep breath. "It might not matter much during the mission, considering what my role will be, but . . . something happened to me when I came back . . ."

Harry could see understanding light their eyes a second before he had to say it.

"I'm a Squib."

* * *

Next:

As the Order of the Phoenix makes plans to overthrow Lord Voldemort's Death Eater regime and save the students of Hogwarts, Harry and Ginny make the most of every minute they have left. But when the time comes, can either of them find a way to say goodbye?

Coming soon, the thirteenth chapter in _The World I Leave Behind_, "One Week."


	14. Chapter Thirteen: One Week

Harry's arm was uncomfortably asleep. He had lain awake for nearly half an hour while worrying what to do about it, because pulling it free would risk moving Ginny – and he very much liked her where she was at the moment. During the night she had somehow come to lay almost entirely on top of him, with her cheek resting on his shoulder and an arm stretched across his t-shirt-covered torso. Harry could feel her breath against his neck, along with the expansion and contraction of her bosom against his chest. Ginny wore one of his old, oversized shirts, and Harry could feel the warmth of her bare legs through his pajama bottoms.

Harry soaked in all of these exquisite sensations as he watched Ginny in wonder, marveling at her beautiful, peaceful face and admiring how her long hair, which was splayed out all over him, glinted copper in the hazy cracks of sunlight that slipped through the curtains. What did it matter that Harry's arm was pinned under her side? It probably wasn't a good idea to have left it numb for so long, but if moving Ginny was the alternative, Harry supposed that he didn't really need both arms.

Waking up like this had swelled Harry's heart more than he thought was possible. Sharing something so intimate – being completely vulnerable as he slept beside her – was the most amazing thing he had ever experienced. He had never felt closer to another person in his life.

And, if he were honest, Harry had never been so aroused. If Ginny were to move her leg over a few inches, things could get embarrassing.

As if reacting to his thoughts, Ginny stirred in her sleep and snuggled even closer to him, and the knee that was draped over Harry's leg rose until it hit the bull's-eye. Abruptly shaken from his blissful state, Harry groaned as a gnawing pain began to churn in his stomach. He finally tried to extract his arm so that he could turn away in pain, but he tugged the deadened limb harder than he meant to and Ginny was rolled onto her back beside him.

"Hnn," Ginny murmured as she began to stir drowsily. "Harry . . . ?"

Harry, who now lay rigid on his side with his back to Ginny, felt her shuffle across the bed to him on her knees. She placed her hands upon his arm and attempted to peer over at his face.

"Harry – are you all right?"

"Mmm-hmm," he strained to mutter. "J-Just a second."

"What is it?" said Ginny, her voice suddenly alert and concerned. Harry waited a few moments and answered when the wave of nausea began to ebb away.

"It's n-nothing," he said through short, rapid breaths. "You just, uh . . . kicked me in your sleep. I'm fine, really." Harry now felt only a lingering discomfort, and he shifted onto his back to look up at Ginny, who remained on her knees, watching him with worry.

"Sorry," said Ginny. "I guess I should have warned you that I toss around a lot in my sleep. Where did I hit you?"

"Well, you know," Harry struggled, feeling his face heat. "It's . . . fine. Don't worry about it."

But something seemed to give him away – perhaps it was the sickly sweat he could feel on his forehead, or maybe his face had turned a different color.

"Oh," said Ginny, her eyes growing wide. "Oh! Really? Harry, I'm so sorry!" She glanced down to where his injury had occurred and lowered her hands an inch before she caught them. She seemed anxious to help, but unsure of how to go about it.

"Really, I'm okay," stressed Harry, feeling thoroughly embarrassed. He propped himself up on his elbows and worked a smile onto his face. "Next time I'll just wear some Quidditch gear to bed." He placed a hand on her knee to signal that he truly was all right.

"Sorry," she said again, but with a hint of a smile. She placed her hand on his. "Did I wake you?"

"No, I've been awake for a while; I just didn't want to get out of bed."

"Mmm, I know," said Ginny, her smile widening and her eyes sparkling. "We went to bed so late that we can't have had much sleep, but I still feel more rested than I have in ages."

"Yeah, me too." Now that the awkward moment had passed, Harry once again lost himself in her beauty; how her tousled hair fell across her freckled shoulders, one of which poked through the large, stretched collar of her shirt.

"So," she said, and Harry held a startled breath as she stretched one leg over his hips to straddle him. "Breakfast? I want to make you breakfast." She added an enthusiastic pat to Harry's stomach as if the matter had been decided.

Harry hardly heard her, as he was suddenly focused on recalling as many names from the Chudley Cannons' roster as he could remember. Did Ginny really have no idea what her new position was doing to him? If not, then she would find out soon if she stayed there.

"Breakfast . . . yeah," was all Harry could muster. His traitorous hands reached out without his consent and began to rub Ginny's legs on either side of him. Ginny held her smile on Harry for a curiously long moment, then casually leaned forward and placed both hands on his chest to prop herself up. The movement caused her to shift slightly against him, the feel of which blasted every thought from Harry's head. There could no longer be any doubt that Ginny knew exactly what she was doing.

"W-What . . . time is it?" Harry blurted out nervously. A voice inside his head shouted at him for being so stupid. Ginny's darkened eyes lingered on him for a moment before glancing toward the glowing outline of the closed curtains.

"Actually," she said slowly, her grin fading. "It looks like it's already pretty bright outside. I guess we should get going . . ." Her smile had completely fallen when she looked back at Harry, who knew exactly how she felt.

"Um," Harry began, trying to push aside the crushing disappointment he felt at having to leave the room. "If everyone is already up . . . how are you going to get new clothes?" Although it was no secret that Ginny had stayed in his room overnight, Harry thought they would be pushing their luck if Ginny waltzed out the door half naked. For all Harry knew, a Weasley death squad was already waiting for him downstairs.

"Hm," Ginny considered, smiling slightly again as she absentmindedly traced circles on Harry's chest. "I could borrow more of _yours_ . . ."

Harry chuckled. "That'd go over well. Nothing says, 'We're not up to anything,' like you walking downstairs in my trousers. And anyway, who said you could nick my stuff?" Harry teasingly tugged at the bottom of the shirt she wore.

"You want it back?" Ginny asked, raising her eyebrows. She gazed at him intently and Harry recognized the blazing look that meant the wheels had begun to turn inside her head.

Without breaking eye contact, Ginny grasped the bottom of her shirt with both hands. But just as she was about to pull it off, there was a low knock at the door and she froze. She held a scorching stare on Harry that burned away the last of his restraint; he was a breath away from seizing her shirt, their unknown visitor be damned. He could tell that Ginny was thinking the same thing as she gazed at him longingly with her fingers still clutching the cloth. Harry's hands, acting independently again, rubbed up Ginny's legs and slid around to cup her bum through the soft fabric of her knickers. He gave the firm flesh a gentle squeeze, and Ginny's lips parted to let out a small, soft moan.

"Harry?" called a hesitant voice from behind the door. It was Hermione.

Even as the intrusion settled on Harry like a splash of cold water, his eyes remained locked with Ginny's. They were both panting and trembling a little at the power of what they now fought to resist.

"Harry?" the horrible, evil, invading voice repeated in a loud whisper. "Harry, it's me, Hermione!"

Finally, Ginny let out a long, heavy sigh and released her shirt. Frowning and closing her eyes, she climbed off of Harry, scooted to the edge of the bed, stomped over to the door and yanked it open just wide enough to peek through.

"What is it, Hermione?" she scolded.

"Oh," said Hermione, who Harry could not see because Ginny blocked the opening. "I _thought_ you must be in here, Ginny." She sounded nervous. "Um, actually, I think that's why nobody else wanted to come up. We waited as long as we could, but it's late and, well, people will start arriving soon."

"Yeah, okay," Ginny relented, her temper cooling. "Thanks, Hermione. It's good to see you up and about."

"Thanks; I feel much better. Well, I'll see you downstairs." Raising her voice slightly to carry around Ginny, Hermione added, "Bye, Harry!"

"See you in a minute," Harry halfheartedly called back.

Ginny shut the door, trudged back to the bed, and fell onto it face first.

"_Aaaaargh_," she growled.

"Exactly," said Harry, then – taken by a sudden idea – he leapt from the bed and stuck his head out the door.

"Hermione!" he called. She had only made it a few steps down the staircase.

"Yes, Harry?"

Looking around to make sure they were alone, Harry leaned forward and whispered, "Could you, uh, bring Ginny some clothes?"

"Oh, um, sure," said Hermione, blushing horribly. She hurriedly turned away and went down the stairs.

Harry reentered the room to find Ginny sitting at the edge of the bed with her legs crossed and arms folded. As he began to walk toward her, she pointedly looked away from him.

"Harry, if we don't want to find ourselves in a very awkward situation when she comes back, I think it would be safest for you to, ah, stay out of my reach for a few minutes."

Harry chuckled, and a smile spread across Ginny's lips, too.

"Yeah," he sighed. "I'll just be over here facing the wall, trying to tick off the names the Cannons' players in my head again."

Ginny laughed as Harry did just that.

**The World I Leave Behind  
**Chapter Thirteen: One Week

Harry sat next to Ron and Hermione on the grassy hill overlooking the backyard and watched the arriving visitors gather behind the Burrow. He once again wore the blonde disguise of James Foster, having downed one of his last remaining portions of Polyjuice Potion. The secrecy was not strictly necessary, but since it served no tactical purpose for the others to know that he was alive, Harry wished to avoid having to recount his painful story again and again. As James, he could walk among the crowd without drawing their stares or pity. The Weasleys understood completely, which is why Harry's role in the upcoming mission would be kept secret.

The Weasleys also seemed to be very understanding when it came to the fact that Ginny had slept in Harry's room – at least, none of them had brought it up. But Harry was not sure how far their tolerance could be tested. They had previously just endured a traumatic twenty-four hours with Harry's revival and Fleur's attack, so allowing he and Ginny to comfort each other may have been a one-time exception. But with only a few nights left to him, Harry could not imagine spending any of them without her.

Ginny was recruited to help with the guests and had spent the better part of the past hour apart from Harry. Hermione thought it was for the best, pointing out that it might look suspicious for Ginny and James to suddenly seem too close. Harry grumpily thought the same could be said of James filling Harry Potter's old spot alongside Ron and Hermione, but said nothing since he wanted their company. He had only just patched things up with his two best friends the night before, and this was his first real chance to spend some time with them. And although his attitude was still bolstered by the memory of waking up with Ginny that morning, the gathering served as a grim reminder that every minute counted in Harry's final days.

"Bloody hell," said Ron, gesturing toward the swelling crowd. "No wonder mum wanted to hold the meeting outside – it looks like everyone who even _knows_ someone in the Order is showing up."

"They are," said Hermione, who Harry was relieved to see looked a bit better out of bed, and with her previously burnt hair magicked back to its full bushy volume. Her skin, however, remained a patchwork of various shades and hues – smooth, but forever marred by the cursed flames that had engulfed her. "Once Fleur was discovered as the spy, your dad thought that everyone should come, not just the senior Order members. We'll need them, and there's no time to keep secrets among ourselves if we don't have to."

"Speaking of Fleur, where is she?" asked Ron. "Has anyone seen her since last night?"

"Ginny thinks that their talk went well," said Harry, relaying what Ginny had told him the previous night upon returning to his bedroom. She had spent over an hour with Fleur, sharing her own experience of being controlled by Voldemort in an attempt to ease the girl's guilt. "Fleur will be all right. It would have just been tough for her to face this many people so soon."

It was still hard to accept what had happened to Fleur, and what she had almost been forced to do under Voldemort's orders. The three friends sat in silence for several minutes as the late arrivals joined the mingling mass of people that now filled the entire fenced-in area.

"Oh, look – Aberforth is here," said Hermione, pointing out Dumbledore's cantankerous younger brother in the distant crowd.

"Yeah, he's been by a few times," said Ron. "He couldn't go back to the Hog's Head after he fought on our side at Hogwarts. But he doesn't complain. Bill says he's been right useful in organizing what's left of the resistance."

"He's more like his brother than he'd like to admit," said Harry, who then nodded to another distant figure. "Looks like McGonagall made it back. And that's Flitwick she's talking to – it's good to see that he's okay."

"He's one of the only professors that wasn't hauled back to Hogwarts and forced to teach," said Ron. "I heard that a couple Death Eaters had him cornered, but Flitwick pulled some quick charms and got away."

"Where's Hagrid?" Harry asked, noting that he should not have any difficulty spotting his oldest and largest friend in the wizarding world.

Ron shrugged. "No idea. He got hurt getting out of Hogwarts – nothing _too_ bad – and the last I heard of him was when Charlie helped him get to Romania to heal up. Guess he's been hiding out with the dragons."

"Oh, I hope that's where he is now," said Hermione, and Harry agreed. It was easy to imagine how happy Hagrid would be, surrounded by so many large, lethal beasts. Harry smiled as he remembered the baby Norwegian Ridgeback, Norbert – or Norberta, as it had been renamed once it was discovered that the dragon was female – and how it had once lit Hagrid's beard on fire.

Harry spotted Ginny leading a few latecomers from the front of the house, her long ponytail bouncing behind her as she walked. Harry watched her move among the crowd and hoped that she would look his way so he could wave to her. As Ginny left the small group that she had escorted, Dean Thomas emerged from the throng and approached her.

"Dean and Seamus are back," noted Ron, who must have been looking in the same direction. Harry saw Seamus glance at Dean and Ginny from several feet away as if he was giving the two of them some space. Dean smiled brightly and appeared to speak to Ginny as he followed her around – Harry could not hear his words due to distance and the din of the crowd – but Ginny seemed to say very little in return as she continued to tend to the Burrow's guests.

"Annoying git," Harry grumbled. "Can't he see that she's busy?"

"Who, Dean?" Ron asked. "Dean's a good bloke, Harry; we roomed with him for six years."

"Yeah, he's all right – when he's not trying to snog Ginny."

Just then, Mrs. Weasley walked over to Ginny and appeared to give her something new to do, shooing Dean away in the process. After having previously watched Mrs. Weasley fawn over Dean during her many attempts to pair him up with Ginny, Harry could not help but feel some small measure of revenge at Dean's dejected face.

"That's right," said Harry, with relish in his voice. "Get lost, git."

Ron chuckled in spite of himself.

"Wow, who is this new Harry Potter?" said Hermione with an air of exaggeration.

"Ah, well," said Harry dismissively. "I'm not serious. Well, I'm not _too_ serious."

"No, I _like_ jealous Harry Potter," amended Hermione, who also chuckled. "The old Harry would have given up and stalked away to brood. I'd much rather you fight for what you want; go challenge Dean to a duel or something."

"I suppose I could still challenge him to a _Muggle_ duel," Harry absentmindedly corrected her. Hermione stopped smiling.

"Harry," said Ron, suddenly sounding serious. "Have you told Ginny about your magic yet?"

Harry sighed. "No."

Ron thought for a moment before responding. "You know . . . it might be best if you don't."

"Ginny will find out sooner or later, Ron," Hermione chimed in. "It could be worse if she finds out the wrong way."

Harry said nothing as he continued to watch Ginny from afar. He had discussed the loss of his magical abilities with Ron and Hermione the previous night, up until Ginny returned from her talk with Fleur. Harry had told them it felt as though Voldemort's presence had strengthened inside him since returning from his apparent death the day before, and Hermione theorized that the surging piece of Voldemort's soul was somehow blocking his magic. If this were true, then Ginny's Killing Curse had been the catalyst that cost Harry his powers.

"She won't take it well," Ron cautioned.

"Well," said Harry, "I'll pull Madame Pomfrey aside after the meeting. I doubt she can help me with this, but maybe I'll get lucky."

Ron and Hermione left it at that as the trio noticed Ginny walking toward them.

"All right you lot," she said, huffing a little as she climbed the hill. "Off your lazy bums – it's about to start." Ginny flashed a brilliant smile at Harry and he beamed back at her.

Hermione struggled a bit as she rose to her feet, and Ron was at her side in a flash to help her up.

"Thanks, Ron," she said. I've got it now."

"I'll be along in a minute," said Harry with a pointed look at Ginny. "Ron, could you hold on for just a second?"

"Here, let me help you," said Ginny, taking Harry's hint and grasping Hermione's arm. Ron seemed torn as the two girls walked down the hill, but decided to trust his sister with the care of his girlfriend.

"What's up, Harry?"

"How is Hermione, really?" Harry asked in a low voice.

Ron returned his gaze to the girl in question as she moved farther away.

"She's, well . . . she's hanging in there. She's trying to be really tough around everyone – too tough, if you ask me – because we've got so much going on. But when we're alone, she's . . . I mean, with what happened to her parents – how is somebody supposed to deal with something like that, you know?"

"Yeah," said Harry. He knew all too well the pain of losing family.

"She isn't even sure how to grieve for them. I mean; she can't have a proper burial, can she?" Ron sighed. "At least her injuries are just about healed up. She's still a little weak and she gets tired easily, but that's supposed to get better now that she's back on her feet."

Harry put a hand on Ron's shoulder.

"Let me know if there's anything I can do for her, all right?"

"Yeah," said Ron, patting Harry on the back. "Thanks, Harry."

* * *

Backed by his father, Bill addressed the crowd. The Weasleys had not yet formed much of a plan, but Bill was able to report what they had learned of Lord Voldemort's intentions – that, in one week, the Dark Lord would use the lives of the students of Hogwarts to somehow turn the castle into an indestructible Horcrux, making himself invincible. The gathered Order of the Phoenix members and connected supporters of the anti-Voldemort movement listened to every word with rapt attention. Harry felt for Bill as the man revealed that his wife had been used to spy on the Order and therefore had endangered the lives of everyone in attendance. But no one said a word against Fleur, or gave any other indication that she would be held accountable for the actions she had taken while under the Imperius Curse. And as talk turned to mounting a mission to stop Voldemort, everyone appeared eager to volunteer, to save the students and play whatever role they could in one last, great effort to take back the wizarding world.

Harry stood at the back of the crowd with Ginny, Ron, and Hermione. He watched those gathered near him as Bill spoke, and wondered what their reaction would be if they knew that the Boy Who Lived was among them. Harry fleetingly pictured the crowd cheering him on, encouraged that the Chosen One would lead them into battle. As much as Harry disliked the spotlight, he might have considered such a role if he thought it would help. But how could he lead when his path was certain to end in death?

Standing there, surrounded by reminders of what he faced, Harry longed to be alone with Ginny again in the room that he now thought of as their own private reality, free from the worries of the rest of the world. With a furtive look around to ensure that all eyes were on Bill, Harry felt for Ginny's hand and laced his fingers with hers. She gave a supportive squeeze and flashed him a soft smile that refortified his courage.

Bill's speech ended and the crowd broke into smaller groups that animatedly discussed what they had just learned. Many people approached Bill and Mr. Weasley directly and volunteered to help organize the assault.

With a sigh and second quick squeeze of Harry's hand, Ginny resumed her role as host and sought out her mother to see what more she could do to help. Harry walked unrecognized around the yard while people occasionally greeted Ron and Hermione, who accompanied him. Hermione avoided meeting anyone's eyes, however, and Harry noticed that her marred face was met with occasional stares and whispers. Ron must have realized this too, because he pulled her tightly to him and steered her out of the densest areas toward the fringe.

Harry caught several conversations as he threaded his way through the many witches and wizards: traded tales of people that had gone missing or worse; that trolls now stood guard outside Gringotts; and that roving packs of Dementors – which Muggles could sense but not see – were causing people to flee parts of London, including King's Cross Station, which had become a Dementor breeding ground. At least, Harry thought, if he could somehow manage to do his part during the mission, these kinds of horrible things might come to an end at last.

When Harry finally followed his two friends out of the crowd, he saw something that froze him in his tracks. Standing next to a bearded man that Harry recognized as Amos Diggory was Cho Chang. Harry was horrified to see that her pretty face now bore several long scars, and he felt a twist in his stomach when he saw that she had lost an arm. Harry caught Cho's eye, and her deadened gaze contained nothing of the girl he had briefly dated during his fifth year at Hogwarts.

"C'mon, Harry," Ron whispered, with a subtle tug at Harry's elbow. "You shouldn't stare."

Harry pulled his eyes away and followed his friends into the empty house, where Ron helped Hermione into a seat at the kitchen table. Harry fell into the chair across from her, still in shock, as Ron pulled out a pitcher of pumpkin juice and began to fill three glasses. Harry thought back to that morning when he had jokingly contemplated trading an arm for more time with Ginny, and felt sick.

"What happened to her?" said Harry.

"Death Eaters," said Ron, handing Harry his glass. "Cho was supposed to be our lookout when we raided Hogwarts, but she ran into a group of them a couple of days before. Greyback did it. He must've thought he'd killed her, because he left her barely alive." Ron took a long drink. "He took the arm with him, though."

Hermione held a hand over her mouth in horror.

Greyback. As a burning hatred rose inside Harry for the despicable werewolf, he realized that – due to his singular, obsessive focus on Voldemort – he had not given a lot of thought to the Dark Lord's supporters recently. But many of them, while not as powerful as their master, were just as terrible. They would have to be dealt with too, regardless of Voldemort's fate. Harry pictured the crowd outside and weighed the determination he had seen from them. He hoped with everything he had that it would be enough.

* * *

Late that night, Harry took the shower he had missed when he slept in that morning, then put his clothes back on to climb the stairs to his room. He was the last to retire for the evening, so he walked as quietly as he could through the darkened house. After a distressing, drawn-out day, Harry longed for the comfort of being with the only person whose company he craved. The all-day discussions had been important and productive, but he was determined that they would not define how he remembered the first of his final days.

As he approached the second-floor landing, Harry saw a faint light spilling through the crack beneath the door and knew that Ginny must already be in the room. She had showered just before him, so he was not surprised to find her waiting. Harry pushed the door open to find her lying across the foot of the bed with her arm propping her head up. She was reading an old issue of Witch Weekly and wore a white t-shirt with plaid pajama trousers. She grinned up at Harry and he laughed.

"You stole my pajamas," he said.

"I traded up," she said, shrugging. "My old shirt hasn't smelled like you for a long time; these do."

"Is that a good thing?"

Ginny pinched a spot on her shirt, pulled it to her nose, and sniffed. She closed her eyes and smiled. "Yes," she said. "It's a _very_ good thing."

"What am _I_ supposed to wear?" Harry asked, not really caring. She looked adorable in his clothes with her hair cascading down his shirt and the tips of her toes peeking out from the too-long trousers.

Ginny stood and walked over to him. "That's _your_ problem," she said with a mischievous smirk. "Merlin, I've been waiting for this. Thinking of coming back in here is the only thing that's kept me sane all day." Before Harry could agree with her, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. Harry immediately felt at ease as her touch erased all of the stress that had built inside him during the day.

"Will this be okay?" he asked when their lips broke apart. "You staying in here two nights in a row?" A voice inside Harry's head berated him for bringing it up, for risking what was sure to be another unforgettable night, but he could not help worrying about what the rest of the Weasleys would think.

"Well," said Ginny, who shied away from his gaze and bit her lip. "Nobody brought it up, but . . ."

"But?"

"Mum did say something to me before she went to bed. It was just in passing – she didn't even look at me, really – but she said, um . . . 'Be careful.' And that was it."

Harry felt a simultaneous shock of excitement and alarm at what he thought those words might suggest, and even in the dim light, he could see Ginny's cheeks flush. Without meeting Harry's eyes, she snuggled her head into his chest.

"R-Really?" Harry stuttered. "Um . . . wow. That's . . . really?"

"I think she understands the situation," said Ginny. "That our time together is . . . is precious. If we don't bring up sleeping arrangements, I don't think anyone else will, either."

"Well . . . good," said Harry, pulling himself together. "I mean, last night was the best sleep I've ever had." Stroking her slightly damp hair, he added, "I want to wake up with you every morning."

"Mmm," she agreed, placing her lips back on his. She pressed her body up against him as they embraced, and Harry focused on the feel of her every soft curve. Ginny deepened the kiss, and Harry moaned as he placed one hand on her lower back and slipped the other into her hair. His every nerve seemed to be buzzing; it felt as though the air had become charged with electricity.

Ginny freed her lips to whisper into Harry's ear. "Cast a Silencing Charm . . . lock the door . . . and you can have your pajamas back."

Harry stilled for the tiniest fraction of a second. "You . . . you do it," he mumbled.

"I can't," she panted while nibbling his earlobe. "My wand is in my room."

Harry began to panic as he struggled to find a way to sidestep Ginny's request that would not arouse suspicion.

"What's . . . what's wrong?" Ginny appeared to regain her senses now that Harry had completely halted his movements.

"I . . ." Harry began, frantically searching for some way out of the situation. "Maybe . . . maybe we shouldn't," he fumbled, realizing at once that he had only dug the hole deeper. "I mean, I'm just . . . just a bit tired right now."

The confusion on Ginny's face was joined by the first hint of hurt.

"Oh. Um . . . okay," she said timidly, shaken by Harry's rejection.

They remained still for several seconds as a sudden chill seeped into the room. Feeling as though his insides had gone missing, Harry took an awkward step back and Ginny looked away in a random direction. A voice was screaming inside Harry's head for him to say or do something to fix the situation, but he feared that the only option he could come up with – the truth – might make things worse.

"Are . . . are you sure I should stay?" asked Ginny, who stared away blankly as she idly tidied her tousled hair. "I mean, if you're really tired, or . . ."

Harry rubbed his hands over his face. "No, don't go. Please. It's just . . ." He gave a heavy sigh. "The truth is, I can't cast those charms because I've been having a little trouble with spells. I probably should have mentioned it, but it really isn't a problem."

Ginny looked at Harry with concern. "What kind of trouble?"

Harry shook his head nonchalantly. "I, well . . . I pretty much can't . . . do . . . magic."

"What?" Ginny whispered. She stared at him, stunned.

Harry shrugged.

"For how long?"

Harry rubbed the back of his neck and gave her an uncomfortable glance.

"Oh," said Ginny with a swallow. She looked like something had struck her. "Since we brought you back." She broke her gaze and stared blindly toward the door. "Since I almost killed you."

"Ginny," Harry said reprovingly, but she stepped away before his outstretched hand could touch her. Tears sprang from her eyes thick and fast, instantly coating her expressionless face. "Ginny, listen," Harry pleaded as he grasped her arm, but Ginny jerked it free and turned away. She was looking around, agitated, seemingly unsure of where to move or what to do. "It'll be all right, Ginny; Madame Pomfrey said there's a chance it might only be temporary. Don't worry about it, okay?"

"I took away your magic," she said mechanically.

With a bit more force, Harry grabbed Ginny's shoulders and lowered himself to her height. She still refused to meet his eyes. "Ginny, look at me."

Her blank face twisted into a tortured expression. "I-I can't . . ."

Ginny tried to pull away again but Harry locked her in his arms. As the minutes stretched on he could find no way to convince her that she was blameless, so he simply held her for some time while she suffered in silence.

* * *

Harry knew a lot about guilt and how hard it could be to let go of, even when a person was not entirely at fault. For him, healing took time more than anything, so he said little else to Ginny through the night. He barely managed to convince her to stay with him – or perhaps it was more accurate to say that he would not let her leave. But she remained distant and slept on her side, facing away from him. Harry held her with his body shaped against the back of hers.

The following morning was nothing like the glorious beginning to Harry's previous day. He was disheartened to find that Ginny was almost as distraught as the night before, although she seemed resigned to her anguish and no longer looked to leave Harry's side. She silently accepted his touch and embrace, but continued to avoid his eyes.

It became increasingly hard for Harry to give Ginny her space as the day wore on. She said very little to anyone and hardly ate, which led to Harry having to field concerned questions from Ron and Hermione. They sympathized with Harry's position, but agreed that it was best to give Ginny the time to come to terms with what had happened on her own. Eager to help Harry however they could, Ron and Hermione explained the loss of his magic to the rest of the family, for which Harry was very grateful. No one brought up the issue when he later joined the Weasleys to plan the siege on Hogwarts.

The sitting room was quickly covered in various notes and sketches, but the discarded ideas piled up much faster than the promising ones. Even if every witch and wizard who had visited the Burrow the previous day joined the charge, their numbers would likely fall far short of the Death Eaters' ranks. And without knowing exactly how Voldemort meant to create his new Horcrux – or where he, his forces, and the students would be – it was impossible to know where to focus the assault. If they lost the element of surprise too soon, they would squander their only advantage.

But the biggest problem continued to be the school's protective boundaries, which had been strengthened so that no one could walk onto or off of the grounds. If Percy was correct in his presumption that the Death Eaters would have fixed the holes in their defenses that the Order exploited during their last raid, that left them with no way to get on the grounds, much less begin an attack. The only idea with any potential was to have Kreacher use his house-elf style of Side-Along Apparition – which could pass through wizarding wards – to take them inside one or two at a time. That method would be painfully slow, however, and chances were slim that they could remain undiscovered while close to a hundred resistance fighters mobilized inside the school.

The day's only bright spot came when Bill convinced his wife to rejoin them for lunch. Although she and Ginny made for a very somber pair, Fleur at least allowed her daughter to once again sit on her lap. Everyone went out of their way to make Fleur feel welcome, and none of them brought up the terrible events that had led to her reclusion.

By dinnertime, nearly everyone had lost the drive to continue working on the plan. They had exhausted every line of thought and still could not overcome several seemingly insurmountable obstacles. Bill became more and more dispirited, Charlie snapped at Percy in frustration, and even George – who had been more like his old jovial self since hearing Fred's message – appeared run down. Halfway through dinner, however, their efforts would gain new life thanks to a most unlikely supporter. It started with a rap at the front door.

The kitchen's stunned occupants looked at each other, frozen in the act of eating.

"We expecting anyone?" asked Ron, gulping down a mouthful of potatoes.

"No," said Mr. Weasley. He rose from the table alongside Bill, Charlie, Percy, and George. With wands out, the group left the room suspended in silence. Harry traded looks with Ron and Hermione, and Ginny gripped her wand as she shot Harry a worried glance. Mrs. Weasley took Victoire from Fleur, who seemed to steel her resolve as she, too, armed herself. They each strained to listen as the door creaked open in the distance.

"Malfoy," came Mr. Weasley's voice, his greeting tinged with surprise.

"Weasley," said Lucius, his cold voice dripping with dislike. "I have come here to see Potter."

Harry heard the door close and then the shuffle of several feet as their uninvited Death Eater dinner guest was escorted to the kitchen.

"How did he get through the wards?" whispered Ron.

"Because we brought him here before," Hermione answered. "Since Bill, as Secret Keeper, let him in, Lucius can see through the Fidelius Charm now."

Lucius entered the kitchen wearing the same sneer and ragged robes Harry had seen during the man's brief visit two days prior.

"Lucius," Harry greeted with a cautious nod. Then, looking around, Harry added, "Where's Kreacher?"

"Your house-elf is dead," he said plainly, as if the news was barely worth mentioning. Hermione gasped.

"W-What?" Harry stuttered. "How . . .?"

"The Dark Lord somehow learned that the elf remained under your command. Shortly after I left this place and returned to the castle with – 'Kreacher,' was it? – he was summoned to the Dark Lord's chambers and killed on the spot."

Harry felt a terrible echo of the grief he had experienced when Dobby died. The pain was not as strong because he had not been as close to Kreacher, but Harry had come to like the house-elf, who on many occasions had proven to be a loyal and valuable partner.

Lucius went on without any sympathy. "We are both fortunate in that the Dark Lord does not appear to have learned what the elf did under your orders – that he brought me to meet with you. The fact that I still live is proof that, if indeed the elf was questioned, he managed to uphold his duty and keep your secrets."

"Eet was my fault," said Fleur, whose horrified face drew every eye in the room. "I . . . I told him about ze elf. I did not know of Kreacher until he came 'ere looking for 'Arry . . ."

Bill gently tended to his wife, who looked as if this extra, unexpected tragedy had undone any progress that had been made in bringing her around.

"What does she mean?" Lucius said callously, eyeing Fleur suspiciously. "Who did she tell about the elf?"

Harry did not want to explain the situation while Fleur was so shaken, but he saw no way around it. "She was under an Imperius Curse; Voldemort had been using her as a spy until last night, when we found out and broke the connection." Malfoy's eyes went wide, and knowing the man as Harry did, he knew that the self-serving scum would only be concerned for his own safety. "Don't worry, Lucius – she couldn't have told Voldemort about you because she never contacted him again after seeing you here."

Fleur, held in her husband's arms, nodded her confirmation of Harry's words.

Lucius appeared to mull over this revelation while he strode over to the table and sat across from Harry in the chair that Charlie had vacated. He placed a wand on the table in front of him.

"Where did you get that?" Harry asked.

"A student," said Lucius, grudgingly. The fact that he was not allowed a wand was always a sore subject with him. "I needed it to come here; it will not be missed until morning." He settled into his chair and stared at Harry intensely. "I have information. _Valuable_ information. But I need to be sure – absolutely certain – that you intend to see this through to the end. That you and your . . ." Words failed him as he gave a disapproving look to the people around the room, who clearly did not measure up to his standards. "That you have a strong chance of winning. I want justice for my son, Potter, but I will not risk my life for a lost cause."

"We're going to stop him," Bill said defiantly. "Him and all of your Death Eater mates."

Lucius ignored Bill's words and waited for Harry to answer.

"I know how to finish Voldemort," said Harry, staring into Lucius's cold gray eyes. "I've known for ages; Dumbledore told me. And with their help," Harry looked around at his greatest supporters, "we can win this. We _will_ win this."

"We shall see," said Lucius, unconvinced. But he relaxed into his chair, apparently satisfied by Harry's promise. His critical gaze softened into a resigned expression, and he seemed to weigh what he was about to do one last time before he plunged into his report.

"Amycus and Alecto Carrow are charged with the day-to-day running of Hogwarts," he said, speaking quickly now that he had made up his mind. "And because of this, they are told more about the Dark Lord's plans for the school than nearly any other Death Eater. They are ill suited to their stature, caring only for petty displays of the power they have been undeservedly given."

"Sounds like you don't care much for your new bosses," said Charlie with a smug grin. "Were they the ones who busted you down to mop-up duty with Filch?"

Again, Lucius did not acknowledge the speaker, but Harry could tell by the tensing of the man's jaw that Charlie's assumption was probably correct. With his stare burning even hotter at Harry, Malfoy continued as if there had been no interruption.

"For someone so well informed on the Dark Lord's agenda, Amycus has an exceptionally weak and unprotected mind. He sometimes seeks me out to lord his good fortune over me – we have an old grudge – and I have used those opportunities to pick through his thoughts. It is too easy. His mind is an open door and he never suspects that while I allow him his lectures and little jokes, I am learning every secret he was trusted to keep."

"And what have you learned?" asked Harry.

Lucius drew a deep breath, and some of his old cockiness lit his eyes as he prepared to deliver news that he seemed think would make a big impression.

"Six days from now, when he has assembled all of his Death Eaters at Hogwarts, the Dark Lord intends to become truly immortal by turning the castle into a Horcrux." Even plotting against Voldemort, Lucius spoke almost proudly of his master's grand scheme. "Do you know that term, Potter? Do you know what a Horcrux is?"

Harry shifted in his seat as he glanced at Ron and Hermione. "How is he going to do it?"

"Amycus did not know the details." Lucius looked somewhat disappointed that his dramatic revelation had not elicited the desired effect. "He knows only that, in order for the Dark Lord to bind himself to the school, many of its enchantments must be suspended until the process is complete. This task has been given to a select group of Death Eaters who have been steadily stripping away the castle's charms for weeks, although they have not been told why. Amycus has been ordered to ensure that their work is completed in time."

"What about the school's magical defenses?" Hermione asked excitedly. "Will its protective charms be taken down, too?"

Harry recognized the disgusted look that Lucius gave him as the expression he wore when having to address a Muggle-born.

"The school's protections will be left for last," he said curtly. "They will remain active until the Dark Lord is ready to begin; he wishes to leave nothing to chance."

"But the wards _will_ go down," said Bill, looking from Lucius to his father. "It's cutting it damn close, but if we knew exactly where to go and what we'd be in for, we might still be able to stop him in time."

Harry narrowed his eyes at Malfoy. "How were you able to leave the school tonight without a house-elf? A wizard can't Apparate or Disapparate inside Hogwarts, and the Death Eaters have made it impossible to leave the grounds."

"Really, Potter," said Lucius condescendingly. "Even with your limitations, I would have expected you to be able to reason this one out. Would the Dark Lord wish to prevent his servants from entering the castle, or stop them from going forth to act on his commands? Death Eaters do not need to be kept locked up." Lucius pulled up his sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark on his inner arm. "With this, I come and go as I please."

Harry stared transfixed at the skull and snake – the dreadful image that had accompanied the deaths of so many good people – and was shaken by an idea that was as perfect as it was repulsive.

"Can . . . can you put one of those on me?"

"What?" said Lucius, Ginny, and just about everyone else all at once.

"I could scout ahead," Harry explained, looking from Bill to Mr. Weasley. "I could go through the wards while wearing the Invisibility Cloak and find out what's going on – find Voldemort, the Death Eaters, the students – and report back to the rest of you, just beyond the boundary. It's the only way to know what we're up against before we go charging in. And if we have to wait until the last minute to launch an attack, every second is going to count."

Nobody seemed to know how to respond. Harry could see in their faces that the thought of taking on the Dark Mark was obscene, not to be considered. But then, it presented an invaluable opportunity. Without knowing what waited for them inside the castle, their mission would have little chance for success.

"Believe me, I don't _want_ the damn thing on my arm," Harry added. "But it isn't much to pay for what we'd get in return, right?" And, Harry thought, it was a minimal sacrifice considering that, if all went according to plan, he would not have to suffer wearing the mark for long.

Ron was the first to speak up. "You're not going in there alone, mate."

"Absolutely not," seconded Ginny. "I'm going with you, Harry."

The room burst into noise as some of its occupants admonished Ron and Ginny while others offered to join them.

"Wait, wait," said George, holding out his hands in a gesture to quiet the crowd. "Malfoy, can you even make one of those things?"

For the first time Lucius appeared to be caught completely off guard. He seemed surprised at the direction his comments had led them, and his reply was measured, his voice uncertain. "As I was one of the first and most trusted Death Eaters, yes, I can cast the spell. And since the Dark Lord has added so many new members to his ranks in recent years, he would likely take no notice of a few new recruits. He would almost certainly be aware, however, if his Death Eaters were to suddenly swell by a great number." The concern began to lift from Lucius's face and was replaced by something else; if Harry did not know better, he might have mistaken it for respect. "This . . . may not be a bad plan," Malfoy concluded. "On the day of the event, I will be required to stand with my fellow Death Eaters and will therefore be unable to provide you with further information. Launching a full scale attack without a clear target would be suicide."

Harry's mind was made up; he was ready to take on the Dark Mark if it gave their mission a chance at success. As repelled as he was by the idea of staining himself with the symbol, the choice was an easy one as he was already committed to giving everything he had to the cause. But Ginny caused Harry to hesitate. She appeared equally determined to follow his lead, and the thought of Voldemort's mark marring her flawless skin made his stomach churn. She still had a chance at a life free of Death Eaters and Dark Lords, and Harry did not want to think of her carrying a permanent reminder of the horrible things she had suffered through.

"Well, you've given us something to think about," said Harry, looking from Ginny back to Lucius. "Can you come back here before the thirteenth? We need a couple of days to plan before we can commit to a course of action."

As always, Lucius looked unhappy at being asked to do more than he already had, but he gave a reluctant nod. "I should be able to leave the castle once more in two to three days. But that is as much as I will do, Potter. Be ready for me." And with that, Lucius collected his borrowed wand and swept through the gathering without a look back. Bill and Charlie followed him to the front door and remained there until Malfoy left the premises and Disapparated.

"Always a pleasure," said George.

"Well," said Mr. Weasley with a wary look at Harry, "we've got something to work with, I suppose."

Ginny fell into the seat beside Harry and rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry about Kreacher, Harry. He seemed to really care for you."

Harry was unsure of exactly what to feel. "Yeah. He was a good house-elf. I owe him a lot."

"We'll pay 'em back, Harry," said Ron resolutely. "For Kreacher, for Dobby, and for everybody else those bastards have murdered. We'll do whatever it takes to make sure they didn't die for nothing." Hermione nodded along as she dabbed at her eyes.

Harry nodded his agreement and appreciation, but wished with all his heart that his friends could somehow be kept from the coming battle.

Ginny seemed bolstered by the idea of joining the advanced scout of the castle – of at last taking action and doing her part to help – so Harry kept his opposition to her involvement quiet for the time being. Upon retiring to Harry's room – discretely, so as not to put an uncomfortable spotlight on the evolving nature of their relationship – Ginny left behind much of the darkness that had shadowed her throughout the day. The couple lay in bed for a long time before falling asleep, staring into each other's eyes while sharing simple touches and occasional small kisses. While their bed had previously been a place of rising passion and intimate new discoveries, on that night it was a place to heal.

* * *

As the week charged relentlessly on, the following few days were a blur in which Harry tried to enjoy his remaining time with Ginny, Ron, and Hermione while also doing his part to prepare for the task ahead.

On the first night after Lucius's visit, Harry entered his bedroom to find that Ginny had filled a few dresser drawers with her clothes and other assorted necessities – or as she put it, she had "moved in." The couple's various discarded garments piled up as the week wore on, and the shared mess really made the room feel like their own little flat.

It was like Harry and Ginny had been together for years, not days. They knew exactly how to make each other laugh or blush, and Harry found every little thing that Ginny said and did fascinating, which often earned him giggles when he asked her enthusiastic questions about the more mundane aspects of her life. From picnics by the pond to afternoon Quidditch with Ron and his brothers, the two of them tried to escape the oppressive confines of the Burrow as much as they could. And when they had to join Bill and the others to discuss strategy, they sat together, always touching in some way. Members of the Order of the Phoenix came and went, both to help with the planning and to learn what had been decided. Harry always hid when they came over, because it made Ginny uncomfortable to be close to him when he did not look like himself.

Their bed once again became the playful, passionate place it had been before Ginny learned that Harry had lost his magic. With nothing and no one to hold them back, it was easy for the couple to get carried away in each other's arms. But on the night Ginny moved in, they came to an agreement.

"Have you thought about what you want for your birthday?" Harry asked as he lay on his side opposite Ginny, who mirrored him on the bed. She would turn eighteen just two days before the mission.

"Well," she sighed, "seeing as my family can't exactly pop down to Diagon Alley for a bit of shopping, I don't expect much in the way of presents."

Harry's face fell; he had been worrying about this exact problem. Ginny smiled at him reassuringly.

"I don't mind," she said, kissing his cheek. "There's only one thing that I really want, anyway."

"Yeah?" said Harry, hoping that she might solve his problem for him. "Any hints?"

"Hmmm . . ." Ginny tapped her chin in an overdone act of contemplation. With a wicked grin, she leaned forward and gave Harry a slow, burning kiss – the kind that usually meant things were close to getting out of hand. She nibbled his bottom lip as she pulled away, smirking, and Harry was left feeling woozy.

"So . . ." he began, trying to shake free of the fuzzy fog inside his head. "What do you want for your . . . your birthday?"

Ginny rolled her eyes but kept smiling. With a huff that was more amused than exasperated, she returned to Harry's lips. She immediately deepened the kiss, pressed her body against his, and hooked a leg over his hip. She then pulled his hand around her waist and placed it at the small of her back, tucking it just underneath the bottom of her shirt. Harry kept it there as she tangled both of her hands in his hair and held his face to hers. As Harry worked to keep up with the frenzied movements of Ginny's mouth, her leg tightened its grip, joining them so that her every motion sent a thrill through his body. He slid his hand further up her back and reveled in the feel of the unseen, unexplored skin. But just as Harry caught up to her pace, Ginny untangled herself from him.

Gasping for breath and feeling as though he would die if he could not continue to touch her, Harry looked into Ginny's sparkling eyes and saw a deep blush spread across the freckles on her face. He finally understood what she was asking for. "Oh," he said, feeling as though he had just received a blow to the head. "Are . . . are you sure?"

Ginny nodded, her playful smile suddenly sheepish. "Waiting until then might be a challenge," she added, panting quite as much as Harry. "But I think it will make it even more special." She took his hand in both of hers and gazed upon him admiringly from her pillow.

Despite the fact that Harry now had something amazing to look forward to, tension mounted as the days ticked off. Try as they might to ignore it, there were times when Harry could tell that Ginny lost sight of the present and dwelled on the fact that their time together was coming to a close. Harry did his best to distract her, but the same dark thoughts increasingly crawled into his head, too.

The day before Ginny's birthday was the hardest. The attack plan was nearly finished; the only thing left was to finalize was who would form the scouting party. Ron was adamant that he would be included, and Harry – remembering his promise to let Ron stand by his side – could not argue. And with the both of them going, Hermione, as expected, could not be dissuaded, either. She no longer bore any lingering affects from her injuries save for her burns, and she argued that the three of them were well suited to the job since they knew the hidden passages of Hogwarts better than anyone and could still pass for school-aged students.

Ginny argued the same points, but while Mr. and Mrs. Weasley reluctantly accepted that Harry, Ron, and Hermione would go, they put their foot down at Ginny. Even Mr. Weasley, who Harry suspected supported his daughter's independence more than her mother did, was not willing to budge. The trouble was, Ginny would not back down, either.

In the end, it was Harry's decision. Since Ginny was of age and qualified to go along, her parents had no legitimate reason to deny her the opportunity. Mrs. Weasley – grasping at straws – had claimed that Ginny would be too much of a distraction for Harry during the mission; that he would focus too much on her safety instead of the task at hand. So, Ginny put the question to Harry: would she be of help, or a hindrance? Harry stared into her fiery glare and desperately searched for anything he could say that might change her mind, but he knew it was pointless; they were too much alike. And after having looked her in the face and left her behind too many times in the past, he simply could not do it to her again. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had been certain that Harry would support them, and had no points left to argue when he chose to side with Ginny, instead.

Harry understood Ginny's perspective, that she would view having to stay behind as the worst possible outcome – worse, even, than her death. If their roles were reversed, Harry could not bear to watch her leave while knowing that she would never return. But it went against all of his instincts and wishes to put her in danger. That night, Harry lay awake for a long time while he wrestled with his decision. He was not very attentive, but Ginny – who seemed to understand and regret what she was putting him through – showed her appreciation for his support with continued comforting touches. Harry's only consolation was the thought that, in Ginny's eyes, he had somewhat atoned for his history of excluding her. For better or worse, she would at last stand by Harry's side in this, his final mission.

* * *

On the morning of Ginny's birthday, Harry awoke to the sensation of her lips on his. Fearing that it was a fading dream, he kept his eyes closed in an attempt to hold onto the feeling for as long as possible. But as he dozily began to return her delicate, feather-light kisses, he came to notice the weight of her body lying atop his and her folded arms resting upon his chest. He cracked his eyelids to find Ginny's beaming smile above him, with her dangling red tresses encompassing his face.

"'Morning," she said with a final peck on his lips.

"'Morning," Harry replied, grinning. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks," she said with a glint in her eye. She tilted her head slightly – causing her curtain of hair to brush softly against Harry's cheek – and appeared to examine him with special interest. "I can't wait to unwrap my present."

Harry's heartbeat thudded into high gear and he immediately became fully awake. Starting cold, as it were, he felt more anxious than excited at what they planned to do.

"Um, do you mean . . . now?"

"Oh – no, not yet." Ginny's cheeks turned pink. "I thought, um, tonight . . . after dinner. When we go to bed." The color in Ginny's face deepened to scarlet, and Harry was glad to see that, despite her occasional teases and bold acts, she was still a bit shy and nervous like he was.

Harry relaxed and, staring into Ginny's blushing face, was overcome with emotion that such a pretty, amazing girl wanted _him_. He cupped her face in his hands and brought her mouth back down to his. Worried that he might have morning breath, Harry kept the kisses strictly on the surface, but there was nothing chaste about the way in which he moved his lips against hers. Feeling somewhat emboldened as the kissing heated his desire, Harry slid his hands down her sides and gripped her hips. When they finished, Ginny raised her head to gaze down upon Harry with a heavy, darkened look; her brown eyes were nearly black.

"Hmmm," she said, her parted, panting lips curling up at the corners. "Maybe it wouldn't hurt to take a little peek under the wrapping paper . . ." She pulled the collar of Harry's t-shirt away from his chest and playfully lowered her head to look inside.

"Hey," Harry chuckled. "No peeking." Then, without thinking to do it, he slid his hand up Ginny's hip and gave her rear a playful pat. Slightly startled, Ginny stared at him.

"Did you just . . . _spank_ me?" She almost seemed affronted but was still smiling. "Oh, you're going to _pay_ for that." In a flash, Ginny sat up and tickled Harry's sides. He squirmed as he laughed but could not escape since she was sitting on his lap, pinning him down between her legs. So, Harry took action and tickled her in return. She gave a burst of shocked laughter and wriggled on top of him, causing an unexpected and highly pleasurable sensation. Harry tickled her even harder.

Giggling so hard that her laughs were silent, Ginny clutched Harry's wrists in an attempt to keep his hands at bay. But he slipped free and grabbed her wrists instead, and the bed shook as they tugged back and forth. Their struggle caused Ginny to fall onto the bed beside Harry, and he rolled with her. He ended up positioned over her on his hands and knees, pinning her wrists to the pillows above her head. Their laughter quickly faded away as they realized their new position.

Ginny's t-shirt – a dark green one of Harry's that he had worn the day before – had ridden halfway up around her midriff, and Harry's eyes feasted on the fair, freckled, naked skin below it. Ginny's legs stirred slightly underneath him, and he traced their movement up to her exposed knickers. When he looked back at Ginny's eyes, her smoldering gaze took his breath away. Her face was beyond flushed – she glowed. Her hair was spread everywhere and her chest heaved with rapid breaths. She bit her bottom lip and made no effort to escape.

For days Harry had toyed with temptation, but despite the overwhelming physical attraction he felt toward her, he had always been careful to stay in control. In that instant, however, it was as if something primal had burst from its cage inside him – something that had been building and could no longer be contained.

Ginny gave him a pleading, hopeful look and let slip a low, soft whimper. That did it.

Harry dove at her, burying his face in her neck and kissing it sloppily, desperately. Ginny gasped and arched her body up toward his, striving to press it against him. Harry felt her hands struggle and released them; they flew to grasp his head as he worked his way up one side of her throat and down the other. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him down to lie on top of her. Harry knew nothing but the shocks of pleasure that their every touch sent through his body. As he had experienced with Ginny before, the air seemed to crackle with the unstoppable power that propelled them.

He put his mouth on hers with no technique, only lust. He felt her rigid fingers rake down his back and tug at the bottom of his shirt, getting it stuck halfway up his torso before she abandoned the effort and instead pulled his hand to her breast. Even through her shirt, the sudden jolt of the forbidden sensation was so potent that it momentarily overwhelmed him. And in that shocked pause, Harry experienced one last, faint moment of clarity.

He had never wanted anything more – had never felt anything remotely close to this kind of need – but in some distant corner of his mind, he knew that as good as this was sure to be, it would not be perfect. And, for her, he wanted it to be.

"D-Don't stop," Ginny begged in a whisper. She crushed her legs around his hips and rocked against him, and Harry had to bury his face in the bed over her shoulder to keep from responding.

"Ginny . . ." he muttered, the sound muffled by the sheets.

"W-What," she gasped; her tone confused as she took ragged breaths. "Why are you stopping?"

Harry inwardly groaned. Why did he always have to be so responsible? He rolled off her onto his side. "Ginny, we're . . . we're not ready." As his mind cleared, it dawned on him that they had taken no precautions; that they were entirely unprepared to follow through. "And . . . and I want it to be special. Perfect. Tonight, it will be. I promise."

Gasping for air, Ginny looked at him in disbelief. Then, still on her back, she locked her fingers across her forehead and stared at the ceiling. After working to steady her breathing for several seconds, she let out a long, slow sigh that was punctuated with soft, involuntary giggles. "Wow," she said, sounding amazed. "_Wow_, Harry . . . I didn't know you had that in you. It feels like my whole body is humming."

Harry smiled with pride that he could affect her that way, because she certainly had an incredible effect on him. Like Ginny, he felt a kind of tingling sensation, too. It was as if the burning desire that had possessed him lingered in the air and tickled his skin. Harry fleetingly looked away from Ginny and did a double take – the room was an even bigger mess than usual. All of the drawers in the dresser and bedside table were open, with their contents strewn about in disarray. "What . . . ?" he said, startled.

"Um . . . _that's_ new," said Ginny, her voice echoing Harry's bewilderment as her gaze followed his.

"Those drawers weren't open before, were they?" asked Harry.

"No . . ." said Ginny, who looked as though she was considering something. "You know, Harry . . . this feeling – I think I know what it is . . . I think I've felt it before." A wide grin spread across her face, and Harry was surprised to see her eyes become watery. "I think your magic is back," she said. "Or at least, it never went away; not really. It just took a little, um, _coaxing_ to bring it back out."

Harry absorbed that for a moment. "Really? You think so?"

Ginny wiped her eyes and nodded. Harry found his wand on the floor near the bedside table and tried a simple Summoning Charm on a pillow – but nothing happened. Ginny looked more hopeful than disappointed.

"I suppose you can't control it yet, but I'm sure it's there." She placed a supportive hand on Harry's chest. "It's an improvement."

Harry felt somewhat optimistic, but as he looked into Ginny's eyes, it did not matter much to him if his powers returned or not. For the short time that he had left, the special kind of magic that emitted from the girl before him was more than enough.

* * *

When Harry came downstairs, he found the others gathered in the sitting room, going over the plan. He was met with genial greetings from the group, but something seemed a bit off in the way that their eyes didn't quite meet his. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley gave Harry only brief smiles before turning back to the scattered pieces of parchment that everyone was clustered around. Harry stood on the fringe of the gathering and started to catch up on their conversation. Hermione left Ron's side to stand next to Harry, and with no one paying them any attention, she whispered in his ear.

"Where's Ginny?"

"She'll be down in a minute," Harry whispered back. Ginny had given him a head start to avoid the awkwardness of a simultaneous arrival, even though they suspected that everyone in the house knew they shared a room. "What's going on?" Harry asked, lowering his voice further. "Everyone seems a bit . . ." He heard Hermione take a deep breath and, with a sideways glance, he noticed her cheeks turn pink.

"There was . . . well, they heard . . . noises – laughter and bedsprings." Her blush darkened to crimson, and her next words rushed out in an admonishing whisper. "The two of you should have used a silencing charm, Harry."

Horror-struck, Harry glanced back at the people who were steadfastly ignoring him and caught the eye of Ron, who quickly looked away. The Weasleys must have truly decided to allow Ginny and Harry their time together if Ginny's six older brothers were willing to turn a deaf ear to what they had heard.

"It wasn't like that," Harry whispered back, a little too loudly. No one appeared to notice. "I mean, we didn't, you know . . ."

"Just be more careful. No one said anything about it, but I could tell that it made them uncomfortable."

Just then, Ginny bounced down the stairs, beaming at Harry. Perhaps to make their closely timed arrival as inconspicuous as possible, she stood across from him on the opposite side of the group, right behind Ron. As with Harry's entrance, Ginny was met with cordial but brief greetings, which included a few muttered wishes of "happy birthday." Harry saw a little crease form between her eyes as she surveyed her family, but her wide grin stayed in place as she returned her gaze to Harry, apparently brushing her concerns aside.

Harry gazed admiringly into the face he adored and found that the overpowering passion he had felt for Ginny just minutes before had not lessened one bit. As he took in her slightly disheveled hair, bright eyes, and knowing smirk, he ached to touch her again.

The couple was so focused on each other that they did not immediately catch Hermione's subtle attempts to get Ginny's attention. Once they did notice her, Hermione began to rub her throat while firing a pointed look at Ginny. After a moment's confusion, Harry saw what Hermione was getting at: he had left a love bite on the side of Ginny's neck.

Wide-eyed, Harry touched his neck to indicate the location of the mark on Ginny, and – mirroring his movement – she seemed to realize the problem when her fingertips touched her own throat. She casually covered the spot by rubbing her neck as if it were stiff, and then took a furtive look around. It must have helped that everyone had been ignoring Harry and Ginny, because no one seemed to have noticed anything. Slyly pulling her hair forward to cover the mark, Ginny gave Harry a mischievous smile, her freckles painted with the most alluring blush Harry had ever seen on her. The air suddenly felt electric again, just as it had back in Harry's room.

_Crack!_

"Ow!" yelled Ron, who leapt to his feet and twirled on the spot, looking for something. "What was that?" He appeared just as confused about his outburst as the rest of the group, who all followed his example and examined the space around him.

"What?" George asked. "What happened?"

"Dunno," said Ron, who now stood still but continued to scan the room with his eyes. "It felt like a shock . . . or a sting, or something." Convinced that he was not under any kind of attack, Ron shrugged at his onlookers. "Weird." He sat back down and the group resumed its conversation, with a few members occasionally casting a curious glance around the area.

Ginny, still behind Ron on the opposite side of the crowd, covertly cast Harry a funny look that made light of her brother's outburst. Harry tried to cover his resulting snort by turning it into a cough, but caught another disapproving look from Hermione. The discussion about the plan continued, but by now Harry had realized it contained nothing new; they were only going over what had already been agreed upon. Faced with the dark thoughts that always accompanied talk of the mission, Harry's mind returned to his room, his bed, and Ginny. He could still feel her, smell her . . . Harry glanced back at Ginny and found her watching him. With a quick check to make sure no one was looking, she gave him a coy smile and casually brushed her hair aside, revealing the mark. Her eyes told him that she did not mind the love bite – that she wanted him to see it. Harry's heart began to race just as it had in bed.

_Crack!_

"Dammit!" cried Ron, who was on his feet again in an instant. He whirled around once before leveling his wand at George. "If this is your idea of a joke –"

"Calm down, little bro!" said George, his hands raised in innocence. He looked genuinely surprised but could not suppress a smirk. "Nobody's doing anything; watch where you whip your wand!"

More people stood to help Ron look, but Harry held his stare on Ginny, who now observed him with a kind of shocked understanding on her face. Harry realized it, too – that both times Ron had felt something, he, Harry, had been intensely focused on Ginny. Just as Harry had felt a kind of energy between himself and Ginny back in their room, was there something between them now? Something that Ron, who sat directly between them, had been caught in the middle of? Harry thought of the emptied dresser drawers and again considered the possibility that his magic was resurfacing in wild, unpredictable ways. Ginny's smug and hopeful smile told him that she was thinking the same thing.

For the rest of the meeting, Harry managed not to dwell too much on his rampaging feelings for Ginny to avoid giving Ron a heart attack. He kept his eyes on the parchment spread across the table and focused on the sound of Bill's voice as the eldest Weasley brother summarized the plan one last time.

Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione were to form the advanced scouting party, and their job would be to sneak onto the grounds, find out exactly what was going on inside the school and where, then report back to the full invasion force just beyond the grounds' protective barriers. Then, when the last of the castle's protective magic was stripped so that Voldemort could execute his plan to sacrifice the students and turn Hogwarts into a Horcrux, the invasion would begin. During the confusion that would follow, Harry – hidden underneath the Invisibility Cloak – would attempt to step in front of Voldemort's Killing Curse.

That last point was perhaps the plan's biggest gamble since Harry knew that he could not count on Voldemort to engage the resistance directly. Their only hope was to strike so hard and fast that Voldemort would have no choice but to join the battle.

Earlier in the week Harry had tried to brainstorm other ways in which they might coerce Voldemort into killing him, but no one had the heart to engage him in the conversation. The subject of Harry's death was almost taboo, although he had the occasional private encounter with a Weasley who would question the necessity of his sacrifice or grasp at alternate plans that would keep him alive but cost them their victory against Voldemort. Percy even proposed that Voldemort's death might not be necessary – that, if they could overcome the Dark Lord's forces and return him to the state of ghostly near-death he had endured during the years following his attack on Harry and his parents, it might be enough to restore peace to the wizarding world. A weakened Voldemort, Percy had reasoned, could be dealt with later. But that idea was as unacceptable to Harry as running away. He would always be tied to Voldemort, and Harry could never truly live while his enemy was out there somewhere, no matter what form he took. Although Harry was in no rush to die, he needed this to be over, to fulfill the prophecy so that he, his loved ones, and the world could finally move on.

And so, Harry had found himself in the role of having to comfort those that came to him, to explain clearly and compassionately why he had to lay down his life. It was not a role he enjoyed. He especially found the occasional hollow, hopeless looks from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley hard to endure. But to Ginny's credit, she had not once tried to dissuade Harry from his plan, although Harry was sure that it weighed on her most of all. Once or twice he had even caught her chasing away members of her family who were trying to pull him aside for what surely would have been another draining emotional encounter.

When the meeting dispersed and Ron approached Harry, looking solemn and grim-faced, Harry braced himself to deliver another uncomfortable explanation of why his death was essential to defeating Voldemort. But when Ron gripped Harry's shoulder and stared determinedly at him, his words were a surprise.

"I'll be at your side, Harry . . . when it happens. I'll follow you in. He won't be able to resist taking a shot at me, because I killed Nagini; I even took a chunk out of _him_, too. And when you . . . when you take the curse he throws at me," Ron paused as he blinked his eyes and squeezed Harry's shoulder tighter. "When you fall, I swear that I'll cast the curse that kills him. He'll only live a second longer than you; I promise."

Harry swallowed thickly and found himself momentarily speechless. He nodded his understanding and appreciation, and Ron pulled him into a tight, brief hug.

"Promise me one more thing," said Harry. "That you'll survive this; that you, Hermione, and Ginny will make it back here to enjoy everything we've been fighting for all these years."

Now Ron could only nod, and the two patted each other's shoulders to seal the pact. As they stepped apart Harry caught sight of Hermione, who had moved away and appeared to be hiding her face. Across the room, Ginny was shooting Harry surreptitious looks while talking with her mother, apparently curious about his conversation with Ron but allowing them their moment.

"Ron," called Bill. Harry looked over to see Bill and all of Ron's brothers exiting the room together.

"Right," said Ron, confirming some unspoken question. "Um, Harry – could we have a minute?" Ron nodded toward his brothers, indicating that he and Harry should follow.

"Sure, yeah," said Harry, caught off guard. As he left the room alongside Ron, he glanced back at Ginny, who wore a questioning look but remained with her mother. They walked up the stairs to Ron's room, and once inside, Harry felt his stomach drop as he saw that he was surrounded by all of Ginny's brothers, who each stared at him, stony-faced with arms folded. Here it came, then – the price for Harry's indiscretion with Ginny. He took a deep breath and braced himself.

"We've been meaning to have a chat with you, Harry," said Bill, taking the lead as always.

"Listen," Harry cut in, taking the initiative. "I understand where you're coming from, but what Ginny and I do is our business. I don't have to –"

"Ugh," groaned George. "What are you bringing _that_ up for?"

"Please just let us play ignorant," added Charlie, who looked equally disgusted.

Harry was thrown completely off track as he watched everyone wince.

"I . . . don't understand."

"Harry," Bill began again. "We brought you up here to fill you in on our other plan . . . our contingency plan, for if we . . . well, for if things don't go the way we want them to. We've been working on it for a while; just us in this room."

Harry said nothing but remained attentive as Bill went on.

"If the worst happens, we still have to do what we can to slow Voldemort down; to give others a chance to prepare before he marches across the continent and sets his sights on the rest of the world."

"We've got people in place to destroy what little there is left of the wizarding world in Britain," added Charlie. "The Ministry, St. Mungo's, Diagon Alley – we'll tear everything down and get anyone who's stuck around out of the country. We won't leave the Death Eaters anything. We've even got enough Gringotts goblins on our side to shut down the bank; to jinx the vaults and head for the hills."

"It took some convincing," Bill continued, "but the goblins realize what it will be like for them when Voldemort takes over completely. He'll go straight for the gold to fund his expansion, and he cares even less for non-humans than he does for Muggles."

"Let's see the Death Eaters try to open a Gringotts vault without a goblin," added George with a satisfied smile. "Voldemort could lose half his forces digging around through the traps in that place."

Harry looked from face to face in disbelief but found only grim resolution in their expressions. It made sense, Harry supposed, to put as many obstacles in Voldemort's path as possible, but it was too terrible to imagine not only failure in their upcoming battle, but the total annihilation of their way of life. Harry had accepted that his own path was coming to an end, and in some distant corner of his mind that he tried to ignore, he knew that everyone he loved could also be living their last days. But the thought that _nothing_ would survive – no reminder of the world Harry belonged to – hit him with a new kind of horror. At the same time, he was in awe of the men around them, of their ability to set aside their emotions and do everything in their power to oppose Voldemort.

"And . . . and your parents don't know?" Harry asked.

"I tried to talk to dad about this," Bill said with a sigh. "But he couldn't face it. He kept trying to assure me that it wouldn't come to this; he couldn't accept the alternative. I didn't want to press him – he's got enough to worry about – so we took it on ourselves. Between us, we had enough contacts to set things up."

"And . . . Ginny?"

Bill sighed again.

"Harry, the truth is . . . she wasn't in any state to help until you came back. And with what's coming," Bill gave a look that Harry took to mean _your death_, "we didn't want to burden her with anything more. But you can tell her, if you want; if you think it's for the best."

"But we thought _you_ should know," said George. "That no matter what happens at Hogwarts, your . . . sacrifice . . . won't be in vain, even if we can't finish Voldemort off. We'll have dealt a huge blow to the Death Eaters no matter what."

Harry nodded, but was silent. What more was there to say about the end of the world? _His_ world, at least – the first and only place that he ever felt like he belonged to.

Without another word, the secret group disbanded and descended the stairs, each member patting Harry's back as they passed him. Harry numbly trailed behind them alongside Ron, thinking of his first amazing trip to his Gringotts vault and the lazy late-summer afternoons he once spent sitting outside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor.

* * *

Despite Harry's best efforts to focus on the present and enjoy his remaining time with Ginny and the others, thoughts of burning buildings and deserted, rubble-filled streets lingered with him, and he remained distant throughout the day. He might have sunk into despair, but as was so often the case, Ginny kept him anchored with her constant, comforting presence. That was how it had worked for them all week, with one taking the lead when the other began to slip into sorrow. Harry did not tell Ginny what was bothering him, and she did not ask. By dinnertime, Harry almost felt happy again.

Mrs. Weasley insisted that everyone eat outdoors where she had arranged a party to celebrate Ginny's birthday. The decorations were reserved and a melancholy mood hung over the affair, but people began to relax and enjoy themselves a little as the setting sun left them under a dazzling countryside night sky filled with countless stars.

It seemed so impossible, at such a warm, peaceful place, that this might be the final such Weasley gathering. Harry was certain that the possibility was what made Mrs. Weasley insist on serving cake, singing to Ginny, and going through the motions of an ordinary celebration as if they weren't about to face Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters for a final time. Ginny even changed into a pretty summer dress for the occasion, which Harry knew she had only done to cheer him up. It worked.

As the night wore on, the Weasleys scattered around the yard and broke into several small conversations. Mr. Weasley made sure that everyone was well supplied with drink, which included the few dusty bottles he had saved for special occasions. Someone brought out a wireless, and when a particularly slow, sweet song issued from its speaker, Harry was struck by a strong sense of déjà vu.

"I've heard this one before, somewhere . . ."

"It's an oldie," said Ginny, who sat cuddled against him. They were the only ones left at the table. "It gets played a lot at weddings, or dances, or . . ."

"That's where I've heard it," said Harry. "The Yule Ball. I think it played while I sat at the table with . . ." Harry stopped short of saying "Parvati" as he realized that the Yule Ball might not be Ginny's favorite subject. Although he had not known it at the time, she had harbored strong feelings for him even then, during his fourth year at Hogwarts. But Harry had taken Parvati Patil to the dance after having first asked Cho Chang. Ginny had been forced to settle for Neville Longbottom since, as a third-year, she would have otherwise not been able to go.

Harry's recollection did not appear to upset Ginny, but she did not ask him to finish it, either. Her eyes drifted away in a seemingly random direction while Harry imagined what it would have been like to take Ginny to the ball; to have known then how important she would be to him, and to have had those extra years together before the Prophecy caught up with him.

"Do you want to . . . ?" Harry tentatively began, nodding to the large, open area beside the table. Sudden nerves had cut his offer short, but Ginny understood and answered right away.

"Yes."

Harry warmed at the flush of pleasure that lit Ginny's face as he took her hand and led her to their makeshift dance floor. Even among the small, familiar group of people that he knew so well, Harry felt very self-conscious as he took his position. He was rubbish at dancing and did not like it much, but he knew that it would please Ginny, and was therefore happy to do it. He stumbled through a couple of awkward steps before Ginny, giggling, hugged up against him and directed their movements into a slow, stationary sway. With his body pressed closely to hers, his hands on her waist, and her head against his shoulder, Harry imagined every pair of eyes on them but ignored the impulse to check. Instead he continued to sway, losing himself in the sweeping melody of the music and the heavenly feel of the girl in his arms.

Soon, Mr. Weasley brought his wife onto the dance floor, her faint protests not nearly as convincing as her flustered smile. Bill, holding his daughter in one arm, put his other around Fleur and the three of them turned in slow circles, with Victoire squealing in delight every time her father dipped her. Ron and Hermione joined the group just before the song ended, and everyone stayed when the next one began.

"This is perfect," whispered Ginny as she nuzzled against Harry's neck.

"Yeah," Harry sighed, his breath rippling the top of Ginny's hair. Everything they had endured would have been worth it, he thought, if Ginny, her family, and Hermione could come back to enjoy more beautiful nights like this one.

"I love you, Ginny."

The words slipped from Harry's lips without any conscious thought. He had reasoned that Ginny must know the depth of his feelings after all they had shared, but he had never voiced them. He had imagined various ways of telling her – grand confessions that made him feel nervous and uncomfortable – but at that moment the words felt so right, so true, that speaking them was as simple and natural as breathing. _Of course_ he loved her; how else could the world work?

Ginny stilled against him and their swaying came to a halt. Without looking at Harry, she slowly stepped away from him, took his hand tenderly in hers, and led him past the other dancers – lost in their own private little worlds – to the house. Neither said a word as Ginny brought Harry up to their room, but when she saw what was inside, she came to a startled stop.

"Harry," she breathed. "Did you do this?"

Her eyes roamed over the room, taking in the dozens of flickering candles that surrounded the bed on every surface. The floor had been tidied up, the curtains were drawn, and wildflowers adorned the dresser.

"Yeah," Harry said shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. "When I went inside for a few minutes during dinner. I, um, got the idea when I came across the box of candles in the scullery a few days ago. Do you like it?"

Ginny turned to Harry with sparkling eyes and kissed him. "Yes," she said, lowering herself from him. "I like it."

They stood before each other for a moment while the dim candlelight flickered across their faces.

"Harry, I took a potion this morning . . . to prepare for tonight. To, um, make it safe. For us."

"Oh," said Harry. The peace and warmth that had filled him was suddenly tinged with nerves. "Okay. That's good, that's . . . yeah. Are you sure that it will, um, work?"

"Yes, I'm sure." Ginny's eyes flitted away. "I mean . . . Hermione brewed it, so it must be perfect."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Hermione knows about . . . us?"

Ginny fidgeted and continued to avoid Harry's gaze. "Well . . . she doesn't exactly know that I took it."

Harry's brow furrowed in confusion. "But then, why would she . . ." Suddenly, things clicked into place. "Oh – ugh. I really didn't need that image in my head."

Ginny winced theatrically. "Me, either."

"She won't, ah, miss it?"

"Trust me, she's got plenty."

Harry made another face, and – catching Ginny's eye – they both laughed. It came as a comfort, diffusing the tension that had begun to build between them.

"Sorry if I killed the mood," joked Ginny.

"I'm sure we can work past it," said Harry, smiling. "I just need to put another picture in my head."

"Maybe I can help with that," said Ginny, as she reached up and slid her fingertips along Harry's jaw. With a lingering look at him, she turned toward the door, cast silencing and locking charms, and then placed her wand on the dresser. The couple exchanged shy smiles, then Ginny turned to face away from Harry, gathered her long hair, and pulled it over her shoulder, exposing her back.

"Will you help me with the zipper, Harry?"

Harry stared at the seam that ran down the back of her dress and felt his stomach float up into his throat. Ginny waited patiently, holding her hair, until Harry hesitantly reached out and found the pull tab with his fingers. His blood pulsing with excitement, Harry carefully opened the zipper down to her waist, revealing an expanse of Ginny's skin that he had never seen before. It was fairer than even her arms and legs, which were light and freckled easily in the sun.

Ginny dropped her hair back behind her and grasped the front of her dress to keep it from falling. She turned slowly and met Harry's eyes as she faced him again. With a timid smile that signaled she was perhaps more nervous than she tried to let on, Ginny slowly lowered her hands until her arms hung at her sides, where she let the dress slip from her fingers to the floor.

Harry felt that he should say something – should compliment her beauty or recognize her bravery in some way – but he found himself speechless, capable only of staring as the moment stretched on. Ginny shifted her stance slightly, seeming less comfortable as Harry watched her, exposed and vulnerable, naked except for her knickers. Her skin seemed to glow in the soft, low light, illuminating curves that Harry had previously only imagined. When Harry's wandering gaze finally returned to her face – which was covered with the deepest blush he had ever seen on her – the anxiousness that he found in her eyes startled him into speaking.

"Ginny," he breathed, his eyes wide with wonder. "You are so . . . so _very_ . . . I mean . . . _God_, Ginny . . ." Harry could not get the words out, and he was about to panic when Ginny gave a laugh. She must have found the assurance she needed somewhere in Harry's flustered reaction, because she beamed at him. Harry chuckled, imagining how ridiculous he must look, sputtering nonsense with his jaw hung open. "I'm sorry if I'm staring, but you're just so beautiful . . ."

"You can touch me, if you want," said Ginny with an encouraging smile. Harry smiled back and raised his hands an inch, but hesitated. Ginny took a step closer, kicking her feet free of the crumpled dress, and took his hands in her own. With her smile still trained on him, she gently pulled them to her waist.

The moment that Harry held her smooth, firm skin in his hands, he felt the now-familiar charge in the surrounding air. It was more potent than before, as if there had just been a lightning strike.

"O-Ooh," Ginny half shrieked, half giggled. Then, in a teasing voice, she added, "That tingled . . . do it again, Harry!"

A little embarrassed, Harry smiled and shook his head at Ginny's enthusiasm for drawing out his dormant powers. "I guess I can't control myself when I'm with you."

"You could do with a bit _less_ control, to be honest."

Harry understood the challenge in her sly smile. Reminding himself that Ginny had already taken the first step, Harry pulled off his shirt. He reached out to take Ginny back into his arms, but stopped when he saw a worried crease between her eyebrows. He traced her stare to his torso, which was covered with the faint remnants of the countless curses inflicted upon him during his captivity. The sight of his marred flesh across from Ginny's perfect body made Harry feel repulsive. He took a step back but Ginny quickly followed, laying her hands lightly upon his arms as she stared at the marks up close. Just before Harry would have pulled away again, she placed a feather-light kiss upon the largest scar on his chest. Then she kissed another scar. And another. Harry stood in awe as she brushed her lips from spot to spot across his chest – in her own way, healing every wound that Voldemort had ever given him. When she finished and looked up at him with warm, caring eyes, Harry did not dare speak for fear that his voice would not hold.

With a cautious smile, Ginny lowered her gaze and began to undo Harry's trousers. She had difficulty unbuttoning them and giggled at her failures as she started over several times, playfully slapping away Harry's hands when he offered to help. When at last she succeeded, she watched Harry's eyes to gauge his reaction as she squatted to the ground, tugging the trousers down with her. Harry could not help but smile at her antics, and without a moment's pause, she took off his boxers, too. Now Harry was as exposed physically as he was emotionally.

Ginny stood on her toes, wrapped her arms around Harry's neck, and kissed him just under his ear. "_You're beautiful_," she whispered.

Harry turned his head to catch her lips, and his hands were suddenly on her waist, her back, and sliding along all areas in-between, holding her to him. He had no more words to describe what this meant to him – what _she_ meant – he could only _show_ her now. Without breaking contact, Harry moved Ginny to the foot of the bed and gently lowered her to it. She scrambled to the headboard, pulled down the sheets, and lay on her back a second before Harry blanketed her body with his. Careful to keep his weight off her, Harry threw away the last of his inhibitions and explored her stomach and breasts, first with his hands and then with his mouth. Ginny writhed underneath him, her hands alternately fisting in his hair and sliding up and down his back as she moaned her appreciation of his actions.

"I love you," she panted. "I'll _always_ love you . . ."

Ginny's voice pulled Harry further into a world where there were no boarders between them; where he had to hold nothing back.

"Show me," Ginny gasped, her voice desperate. "Show me that you need me as much as I need you . . ."

Harry hooked his fingers into the waistband of her knickers – the only thing left between them – pulled them down her legs, and shook them free of her feet. As he paused for a single, hammering heartbeat to take his first full look at her, the air around them seemed to glitter with a golden glow.

* * *

"What do you think?" asked Hermione.

Harry watched her mouth move but did not hear her words. She had to repeat the question several times before he realized that she was speaking.

"Yeah, um . . . that one?" he said, randomly pointing to the first of the four black school robes that had been neatly laid out on Hermione's bed.

Hermione looked puzzled. "That one . . . what? Yours is at the end, Harry; that one is Ron's." Hermione looked from Harry to Ginny, both of whom wore the same glazed look, and gave a small huff. "Well, _Ron_, at least, agrees with me that it would be a good idea to wear these tomorrow; I mean, we can't exactly wander around the school in jeans and jumpers, can we?"

Without a word, Ginny turned and left the room.

"Yeah, no – you're right, Hermione," said Harry. "That's good thinking. Um, excuse me."

Harry found Ginny just through the door, looking despondent. She kept her eyes on the floor but allowed Harry to put his arm around her and lead her down the stairs. Harry struggled for something to say but knew that anything he could come up with would be useless. Ginny had been like that all morning, since waking up to the sobering fact that the day would be the last that Harry would see through to its end. They had fought all week to ignore the impending deadline, to make the most of the time they had left, but their respite was at an end and they could no longer find the strength to pretend otherwise – especially not after what they had shared the previous night.

It had been more than they could have ever expected. Even now, hours after they awoke, Harry had trouble organizing the myriad images and emotions that came back to him – of comprehending the full scope of what they had shared. Without question, it had been the most profound experience of Harry's life. He had given everything of himself; had shown Ginny who he truly was in so many ways, beyond the protective barriers that he had previously always held in place, even with her.

Ginny's theory regarding Harry's magic had continued to prove true during the night, as the more he gave of himself, the more his powers revealed themselves. Lost as they were in each other, they had not immediately noticed the effect that the endlessly flowing, formless magic was having on them. It was not until later that, upon reflection, Ginny had realized she could feel what Harry was feeling – his love, his lust, his endless need for her. It had covered and consumed her, adding to her own sensations, which were already overpowering. No two people had ever been more closely connected.

Thinking about it now stuck Harry with a pain that was almost crippling, because where he was going, he could never share such an experience with Ginny again. Their night together showed them everything that they were to each other, everything they could ever _be_ together – everything they would never have.

As the day moved forward like a death march, Ginny became increasingly distant. There were no smiles, not even fake ones, as she and Harry barely listened to Bill's final rundown of the mission plan. Spirits were down all around as the rest of the Weasleys focused on last minute preparations while wrestling with their own thoughts. Harry noticed how much Ron and Hermione were able to support each other and tried not to feel jealous as he imagined what a difference it would make to he and Ginny if he had even a faint chance of coming back.

By dinnertime, Ginny's condition had worsened to the point that she began to scare Harry. She had almost completely withdrawn inside herself, and nothing that he said helped to pull her back out. She simply moved where he led her, sat when he pulled out her chair, and listlessly ladled soup into her mouth when he placed a spoon in her hand. Her grip trembled, and very little soup made it far from her bowl.

Harry, too, was struggling. Ginny had been his anchor; had given him something to focus on rather than the mission. Without her help, he would be lost.

When things were already at their worst, Lucius arrived at last to make good on his promise to brand the members of the scouting party with the Dark Mark. Ginny's decline into her shaken state had not gone unnoticed by her family, and it took Harry's last ounce of strength to convince Mr. Weasley that she should still be allowed to join Harry, Ron, and Hermione on the mission. Harry had hoped that Ginny's inclusion would raise her spirits the way it had done before, but she no longer seemed to care either way. Harry watched in agony as Voldemort's sign forever defiled Ginny's pale, pure skin, but he barely took notice when the skull and snake were put onto his own arm.

Nobody said much after Lucius left, and as if by some unspoken agreement, everyone retired to their rooms early, perhaps with the idea of being well rested for the day ahead. In Harry's case, it was simply a relief to be away from the rest of the family. But when he entered his room with Ginny, it felt just as cold as the rest of the house, as if all the warmth and happy memories they made there had been drained away. The couple sat at the edge of the bed and did not speak.

This was it, then. The time had come at last for Harry to do the thing he had feared he never could – to say a final farewell to the girl he loved more than life itself. Tomorrow Harry would share teary goodbyes with everyone else, but tonight would be his last chance to speak openly to the Ginny that only he knew. Harry wanted so badly to take her pain away, to find the words that would somehow make things better, if only a little. But as his thoughts once again drifted to the previous night and the full weight of what he would leave behind, he found that he had nothing left to give.

"Was last night a mistake?" In the complete quiet of the room, Harry's whispered question rang out.

Ginny wrapped her arms around herself and hung her head, her hair falling forward to obscure her face. "No. Maybe. I don't know."

Harry gently pulled back enough of Ginny's hair to see the side of her face, but when she did not look at him, he moved his hand to her back and rubbed it comfortingly. "If . . . If I'd been stronger, then maybe I wouldn't have . . ." Harry stopped and sighed. "No, I won't say that. As much as this hurts . . . I could never regret what we did."

Ginny said nothing else, and as the minutes wore on, Harry searched for the courage to compose some kind of farewell; something, at least, to mark their parting even though he knew no words could ever be adequate.

"Ginny," he said numbly, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I don't know how I could . . . could ever tell you what you've meant to me . . ."

Ginny let loose a violent sob as she hunched over to bury her face in her knees and wrap her arms around her legs. Harry, his heart splintering at the sound, continued to rub her back automatically as he pushed on.

"Y-You've been . . . the best part of my life –"

Harry's words were drowned out by Ginny, who cried harder than he had ever heard her, drawing shuddering breaths and wailing in absolute despair. Her family could surely hear her throughout the house, but Harry knew they would not come, that they would give them this moment to grieve alone.

Harry wrapped an arm over Ginny's shuddering back and leaned over to hold her close. With tears silently beginning to spill down his cheeks, Harry smoothed Ginny's hair and shushed in her ear while her pent-up sorrow poured out. When, after many minutes had passed, Ginny appeared to get worse instead of better, Harry became desperate.

"Ginny, please . . . _please_ tell me what I can do to . . . to help this . . ."

Her response came immediately, wedged between broken breaths, from beneath her hair where her face remained hidden in her knees.

"D-Don't go."

"I . . . I have to, Ginny. You know I do."

"N-No," she spluttered, rising up to stare into Harry's face with her red, pleading eyes. "You don't, Harry. You _d-don't_ . . ." She was still crying as she spoke, with her face contorted into a mask of misery that burned itself into Harry's mind. With rising desperation, she clenched her fists in Harry's shirt. "_Please_ Harry, I'm b-begging you, don't go!"

"You want me to . . . run away?"

Ginny nodded frantically, taking stuttering breaths as tears poured down her face.

"You want me to . . . to turn my back on Voldemort . . . on the war? Your family? Everyone?"

Ginny hesitated for a brief moment and then gave one more nod.

"Ginny," Harry said softly. "You . . . you know that I can't."

Ginny shut her eyes in defeat and her head fell forward, lifeless, to rest against Harry's chest. He held her tightly while she continued to weep, and they stayed like that for some time until Ginny's sobs slowly subsided, leaving only the sound of sniffles and hiccupping breaths. When Ginny seemed to have calmed, Harry attempted to broach a subject that he felt needed to be addressed.

"I want you to be happy, Ginny," he whispered. "I want to . . . to look in on you from time to time and see you smiling. And . . . and I don't want you to ever let me or . . . or what we had h-hold you back . . ." Harry sniffled and blinked back tears as he imagined Ginny, bright and brilliant under a summer sky, surrounded by a family of her own with another man filling the role that Harry could not. A future that, no matter how it hurt Harry to picture it, he wanted for her. "I'll understand, Ginny. Just . . . just be happy . . ."

Ginny pulled herself from Harry's arms and stood, hiding her face in her hands. "I-I can't do this . . ."

Before Harry could stop her, she fled the room and began to descend the stairs. Harry chased after her but could not catch up before she reached her room and shut herself inside. Harry paused at the door and heard the muffled sounds of Ginny falling apart, of shattered sobs and howls of pain that were every bit as terrible as before. He stood with his hand held an inch from the doorknob but did not enter, because as he let the sounds of her pain stab into his heart again and again, he knew he was powerless, that there was nothing he could do to help her, because if their roles were reversed, Harry knew he would be just as inconsolable.

Harry sank to his knees and slumped against the doorframe. He stared blankly at the door as what seemed like hours dragged by, and still the sounds of Ginny's suffering did not relent. For so long his goal had been to create a world where Ginny could be happy, but that seemed impossible now. Wasn't he owed this one thing? Harry would give anything to help her, but when he already planned to sacrifice his life, what more could he possibly have to offer?

And then it hit him: a forgotten, forbidden thought that, while horrible, contained the last tattered shred of hope Harry had left.

Pulling himself up on shaky legs, Harry numbly returned to his room where he pulled his school robes over his Muggle attire and collected his wand and Invisibility Cloak – he would need them later if he failed to make it back to the Burrow in time. On his way out of the room he paused by the dresser to down his very last dose of Polyjuice Potion. As quietly as possible, he left the house – donning a traveling cloak that hung near the door – walked across the front yard, and passed through the Burrow's protective enchantments without a look back.

As he walked through the chilly nighttime air toward the village of Ottery St. Catchpole, it was as if Harry was observing his actions from outside himself. It was complete and utter madness to even consider what he was about to do, and yet his legs carried him forward anyway. When he felt that he was a safe distance away from the Burrow, Harry stopped at a country road on the outskirts of town and held out his wand.

_Bang_!

A violently purple triple-decker bus materialized on the road in front of him, and Harry boarded it with a muttered destination to its conductor, whose hand Harry filled with however many Galleons he had in his pocket. The Knight Bus lurched into action, but Harry was unaware of the scenery that whizzed by as he stared blankly at a space in front of him, his mind emptied of everything except Ginny's echoing cries.

In what seemed like an instant, the bus jarred to a halt and the conductor ushered Harry off at his stop. From the moment his feet touched the sidewalk Harry could feel them. He looked up at the darkened silhouette of King's Cross Station and, for the first time since he left the Burrow, felt fear.

The risk that Harry was taking was unthinkable, the likely result worse than suicide. He thought of his parents and the others waiting for him on the other side. If they were watching him now, surely they were screaming at him to go back. Harry felt a stab of pain for what he would put them through if he failed. But the grief that he felt for Ginny and the loss of the life he should have had with her pushed him onward, kept him putting one unsteady foot in front of the other, moving toward the only solution that would either help Ginny or numb him to the pain of losing everything.

As he entered the station, Harry could tell that no one had been there in a while. The few bulbs that were lit flickered to the faint sound of an electric hum, and scattered rubbish blew along the ground. It was just as he had heard among the crowd at the Burrow after Bill's speech – Muggles did not use this place anymore. Harry's fear receded as he walked on, replaced by a hollow numbness that kept all of his other emotions at bay.

Why was it so easy? Because this was not the first time that Harry had willingly marched to his own demise? Because he had never learned to accept the inevitable, had always chased his chance for victory no matter the odds or consequences? Or because, when faced with the prospect of watching Ginny from beyond – of witnessing a lifetime of her pain without ever being able to help – oblivion was almost a tempting escape? Harry thought of how perfectly he had fallen into his own trap. He had known since returning to the Burrow that he must avoid getting too close to Ginny, that he might not be strong enough to leave her; to finally say goodbye to the dream of a life that had kept him going for so long.

Harry stopped outside the barrier that led to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, where he could feel them waiting on the other side. It was ironic, Harry thought, because this was the very spot where his life had truly begun, where he fully crossed over into the world he belonged to. It was even where he first saw Ginny. He closed his eyes and filled his mind with every one of their private moments from the previous week. He remembered how she felt, smelled, tasted. He thought of the words she had whispered while they made love; how much he could tell that she meant it every time she had said that she loved him.

With his heart as full as he could make it, Harry opened his eyes and stepped through the barrier into a scene from a nightmare.

He was surrounded by Dementors that sped toward him along the ground and from up above, stirring themselves into a frenzy at his sudden appearance. Harry knew immediately that there were too many of them; that his plan would not work.

It was an old idea, one that Harry had fleetingly entertained during his time in the Chamber of Secrets. When he had asked Dumbledore if such a plan could work, it had led to the only occasion in which the aged wizard had shown true anger at Harry. Dumbledore had reluctantly admitted that a Dementor's Kiss would almost certainly destroy the fragment of Voldemort's soul, but that it was never to be considered, for the risk to Harry's own soul was too terrible. Harry set aside the idea and never mentioned it again. Only now that he had reached the very limit of his despair – now that he had broken – had the old, desperate thought crept back into his consciousness.

Condemned to death, Harry was powerless to take away Ginny's pain. But if he could destroy his part of the Dark Lord's soul _without_ having to die, he could face Voldemort on equal terms; he could stand alongside Ginny, protect her, and fight for their future.

No matter the outcome, Harry would do right by those he had promised to protect – Voldemort would be rendered mortal. And if Harry's theory about his magic was correct – that it was being suppressed by the Dark Lord's parasitic presence – then he reasoned that destroying the soul fragment would release his enhanced powers, which he could then use to escape. It was all a terrible gamble based on little more than guesswork, and it all hinged on another presumption, that Harry's own soul – healthy, whole, and a natural part of him – would prove harder to remove than the loose, lesser piece of Voldemort.

But as Harry stared into the faceless hoods of the fiends that roughly clutched him with deadened, ice-cold hands, he finally faced how delusional he had been in thinking that he could do this. His head was flooded with a cacophony of tortured sounds – Ginny howling in sorrow; his mother being murdered; Harry's own cries as Voldemort tortured him endlessly in the Chamber of Secrets. He fought to hold onto the memories he had marshaled to his defense, but Ginny's face faded as he struggled to remain standing, betrayed by the bottomless pit of pain that had torn open inside him at the Burrow. He had never been weaker in the Dementors' presence.

It was a miracle that Harry remained somewhat conscious while the pack fought over the feast he offered. The mob lifted him off his feet, slammed him against a brick wall, and held him there. Harry felt the writhing, hissing figures all over him, reaching, ripping, caressing. Finally, the Dementor directly in front of Harry appeared to win out, and its fellows withdrew slightly as it leaned in, its putrid, rattling breath blowing in Harry's face as its jaw clamped over his mouth.

The power of the Kiss was a hundred times worse than the simple torture of being in the Dementors' presence. Harry hung limply against the wall and began to feel a pull throughout his body, as if all his breath and blood were rushing upward and out of him, draining him of everything. But contrary to the sensation, Harry was falling, plunging into a limbo devoid of sound and feeling. He was surrounded by hazy scenes of his greatest horrors, muted memories that came in reverse as he fell further into the abyss:

Ginny's tortured, tear-soaked face, still so fresh in his mind . . .

. . . Hermione aflame, screaming in agony beside her parents' charred remains . . .

. . . Lord Voldemort, carving through Harry's wet flesh with surgical swipes of the Elder Wand . . .

And then, miraculously, Harry felt a surge of warmth as feeling returned to his arms and legs. His descent slowed to a stop and he hung in the darkness, intensely aware of the returning power that surged through him, sparking his every nerve. The Dementor had devoured the shard of Voldemort's soul – Harry's magic had returned. But he could still feel his life, his essence, bleeding away as the Dementor's jaw clamped down even harder, feverishly working to suck out the much tastier morsel still inside. Harry blindly struggled to break free but felt the iron grip of more skeletal hands seize him as soon as he shook his limbs. The jolt from his magic was fading, and with what little awareness Harry still possessed, he knew that his only chance to escape would be lost in seconds.

Harry clung to a smiling image of Ginny like a lifeline, desperately willing it into sharper focus. With an unimaginable effort he began to rise up out of the nothingness, inch by grueling inch, as he stared into Ginny's imagined eyes. But the image soon began to blur and Harry started to sink back down. He had reached his limit at last, and as he began to fall even faster than before, Ginny's face faded until Harry could no longer remember what she looked like.

The horrors that sped by were only flashes now:

Remus and Tonks, lying dead in the Great Hall . . .

. . . Fred's broken body, lifeless in Percy's shaking arms . . .

. . . Dumbledore thrown from the highest tower . . .

. . . Cedric Diggory, murdered at Harry's feet . . .

. . . Voldemort regaining his body . . .

. . . Voldemort summoning his supporters to him in the graveyard . . .

. . . Voldemort's snakelike face, alight with triumph.

* * *

Next:

The day that will decide the ultimate fate of the wizarding world arrives at last.

Coming soon, the penultimate chapter of _The World I Leave Behind_, "Gauntlet."


	15. Chapter Fourteen: Gauntlet

Ginny's lungs burned as she sucked in rapid, ragged breaths, her heart close to bursting as she pushed her legs to run faster than they ever had before. Tears blurred her eyes, causing her to slam into a wall as she tore around a corner. It cost her only a second, however, before she stumbled back into a sprint. Ginny ignored the pain in her shoulder; all that mattered was that she reached him before it was too late.

She raced through King's Cross station until she came to the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Without any hesitation, she charged through the false wall at full speed and staggered to a stop on platform nine and three-quarters. Teetering atop shaky legs and clutching a stitch in her side, Ginny's head swiveled this way and that as she desperately searched the area. She fought hard to keep from crying outright, to ignore the rising panic that could cripple her. But then, just as she feared the worst, she found him.

"HARRY!" She had meant to shout but it came out as a scream, the kind that tears the throat on its way out. A green-eyed boy with round spectacles and tousled black hair turned to look at Ginny, and a smile lit his face.

Willing her aching legs to move again, Ginny rushed to stand before him, almost laughing with lightheaded relief as she bent over, put her hands on her knees, and panted.

"I d-didn't . . . k-know you had l-left . . . I almost didn't m-make it . . ." Ginny continued to catch her breath as she slid a rucksack off her arm and let it drop to the ground. "I-I'm ready. All p-packed."

Harry's smile fell as confusion clouded his gaze. "You mean . . . come _with_ me?" he said. "Ginny, you know that you can't – you're only ten."

Ginny looked up at Harry in horror as a shrill whistle signaled the impending departure of the Hogwarts Express. All around them, students hugged loved ones and hurried to board the train. Ginny's eyes drifted dazedly from one group of people to another as Harry's words sank in. Whereas her breaths had come too quickly the moment before, now she labored to draw a single one.

"I . . . I know that," she said, turning back to Harry with a pleading look. "But . . . I . . . I thought that maybe . . . I mean, you're only a year older than me . . ."

"I'm sorry, Ginny," said Harry, and he looked like he truly meant it. "But it isn't your time to go."

A silence settled between the two children amid the sounds of banging luggage and last-minute goodbyes that filled the platform. Finding that she no longer had the strength to stand, Ginny crumpled to her knees and crushed her eyelids closed as tears streaked free.

"Will . . . will you write?" she whispered.

"I can't. I'm sorry."

Without looking up, Ginny nodded that she understood. "Tell Fred that I m-miss him."

"I will."

Ginny lifted a heavy arm to take Harry's hand, but when her fingers closed around empty air, she opened her eyes to find that he was gone, lost to the swirling clouds of steam that issued from the scarlet locomotive. Panic gave her the power to stand, and she frantically weaved through the throng of people that cheerfully waved at the faces on the train as it lurched forward.

"Harry!" she cried, searching the eyes that watched her from the windows of each compartment for a familiar green pair. "_Harry_!"

Ginny ran alongside the Hogwarts Express while it pulled out of the station. Only when the train had almost disappeared from sight did she spot Harry standing in the open doorway of the last car. He smiled at her sadly, gave a halfhearted wave, and then . . . he was gone.

"_HAAARRRY_!"

Ginny's eyes flew open as she woke with a start. She was alone, balled up on the floor in the middle of her room, clutching her stomach. Her heart raced as if she really had been running, and her head rested in a pool of tears that spread out across the hardwood floor.

For one short second Ginny felt relief as she realized that her nightmare had not been real, but then she remembered that the reality she faced was far worse. The day had finally come for her family to lead a final, desperate attack on Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Everyone Ginny cared about would be in grave danger, and even if they were to miraculously succeed, one tragedy was absolutely unavoidable:

Harry Potter – the love of her life – would die.

**The World I Leave Behind  
**Chapter Fourteen: Gauntlet

Ginny did not remember falling asleep and was certain that she had at some point passed out when her suffering had left her completely drained. She felt ill as pieces of the previous night reassembled inside her head. After working all week to remain strong for Harry, she had shown him her very worst. Ginny had promised herself that she would not add her own pain to Harry's burden, but that was exactly what she had done. Now that she had bled her emotions dry, however, clarity had returned. She felt like she had been hit with a blasting hex but was back in control, and the realization that she was apart from Harry struck her like a knife through her chest.

Wiping her soaked face with the long sleeves of her shirt – which, along with her jeans, she had never changed out of the previous day – Ginny left her room and climbed the staircase to Harry's door. It was still dark inside the Burrow and there were no signs that anyone else was awake. Harry's door was open when Ginny reached it and she could see that he was not inside. She went back down the steps to the ground floor and checked the sitting room, the kitchen, and all of the spaces in between. When she still could find no trace of Harry, Ginny looked outside. By the first faint light of sunrise, she could see that he was nowhere around the house.

Intuition – and a lifetime of learning to expect the worst – told Ginny that something was very wrong. She went back inside the house and ran upstairs to Harry's room to take a closer look, to search for clues as to where he might have gone. Nothing seemed amiss at first, and she was halfway back through the doorway when she noticed that Harry's school robes were missing from the dresser where they had lain next to hers in preparation for the mission. The Invisibility Cloak was also gone. With her heart pounding, and feeling as though she might become sick, Ginny staggered to the nightstand to find that Harry's wand was missing, too.

"No," she whispered in terror. "_No_, _no_, _no_, _no_ . . ."

Ginny fell against the door as she stumbled through it, and then she was running as fast as her trembling legs could carry her, just as she had done in her dream. It took only a few frantic seconds for her to reach the top of the stairs and throw open the door to Ron's room. It banged against the wall, causing Hermione to shoot up to a sitting position in Ron's bed while scrambling to pull a sheet over her naked chest. Hermione's wide eyes found the room's intruder, but before she could ask the question that was forming on her lips, Ginny's words rushed out in a panic.

"Harry's gone!"

The girls held each other's gaze for a moment longer, and then – without the need for any further explanation – Hermione turned to Ron who lay snoring next to her.

"Ron, wake up," she said, shaking his bare shoulder with one hand while her other kept herself covered with the sheet. "Ron!" Ron's snores stuttered to a stop as he groggily looked up into Hermione's eyes and traced her alarmed glance to Ginny at the door. "Harry is missing, Ron."

"His wand is g-gone," Ginny added, her voice breaking while she struggled to hold herself together. "And his robes, and the Invisibility C-Cloak." She shifted her weight between her feet, her legs ready to run the moment she could think of a destination.

Ron stared at her for a long moment while Ginny imagined what she must look like after her night of near sleepless suffering. It had to be obvious to him that she had been through hell, which – when combined with the desperation in her voice and their shared understanding of Harry's nature – seemed to drive Ron to the same conclusion that Ginny had reached. He swore and sat up, rubbing his hands anxiously through his shaggy hair.

"He wouldn't have," breathed Hermione, who appeared to have kept up with their thoughts.

"He's Harry – of course he would," said Ron, who sounded angry as well as fearful.

"But he can't do this," said Hermione, shaking her head in disbelief. "He can't get to Voldemort and . . . and do what he needs to by himself, with no magic. He would have to be out of his mind . . ."

"We . . . we had a fight," said Ginny, almost trancelike as a horrifying thought occurred to her. "Well, not a fight, but . . . but it was bad. I completely lost it and I ran off and l-left him a-alone . . ." Ginny was crying now, crushed under the realization that her outburst could have been the cause of Harry's disappearance; could have driven him to do something as stupid as attempt the mission single-handedly. She knew in her heart that he would do so if he thought he was protecting her and the others.

"Do mum and dad know?" Ron asked. Ginny shook her head. "Go get them; tell them what's happened. We'll be down in a second."

Ginny sped away without a second glance, grasping onto the distraction that this course of action provided. She reached the entrance to her parents' bedroom on the fourth floor landing and, this time, knocked instead of barging in. She pounded the door loudly with her fist and heard the sounds of others in the house stirring at the racket. Finally her mother appeared, hastily tying her dressing gown closed as she swung the door open.

"Ginny, what in Merlin's name –"

Something about her mum's comforting presence caused Ginny to lose what little control she had left, and she spluttered a sob as she looked into her mother's mirrored pair of warm brown eyes. As if she were still a child, Ginny was filled with a desperate and irrational hope that her mother could somehow make everything all right.

"He's g-gone, mum," Ginny choked. "Harry's gone."

* * *

Ginny, Ron, and Hermione stood in a row along a kitchen counter – all three of them now dressed in their school robes – while everyone else ate breakfast at the table. Ginny could not understand how her family could hold food down while Harry was missing, possibly dying or dead already. Her imagination ran wild with a relentless barrage of horrible possibilities. Perhaps Harry – alone, powerless, and no longer a threat – would once again be captured and made to suffer if caught. The images that had first been conjured by Harry's tales of his torture seemed all the more real now that Ginny knew every inch of his body so well; had seen his scars up close.

Beside Ginny, Hermione picked at a piece of toast while Ron held a plate to his mouth and shoveled in a second helping. This did not bother Ginny because she knew that Ron ate when he was anxious, and both he and Hermione – like Ginny – remained standing because their jittery legs would not allow them to sit.

To their credit, Ginny's siblings were greatly concerned about Harry and had tried to devise a way to go after him immediately. But their father had insisted that, with an invading force of about a hundred anti-Voldemort witches and wizards scheduled to arrive soon, they had no choice but to follow the plan that had been painstakingly crafted to give all of them the best chance at success and survival. Mr. Weasley argued that to break with the plan now, when various pieces were already in motion, would likely doom them all and leave the students of Hogwarts defenseless against Voldemort, who meant to murder them in exchange for immortality. Mr. Weasley had tried to assuage Ginny's fear by suggesting that Harry would never do anything risky that might compromise the plan and put himself and others in more danger, but Ginny could tell by the look in her father's eyes that he knew how reckless Harry could be if he thought he was acting for a just cause.

Ginny had under an hour to wait before she could depart for the castle with her family and everyone else, but every minute – every _second_ – that dragged by brought her closer to rebellion. She stood stock-still, fingers clenching the edge of the counter that she leaned against, tapping her toe with pent-up energy as she stared blindly into the room with wide, unfocused eyes. Every few seconds her brain would send along a frantic plea or a scream of fear and frustration, but she caught them in her throat, remembering the warning Hermione gave when Ginny had first railed against her father's command to stay: if Ginny's parents thought her too distracted and unstable, they would surely force her to stay behind.

At exactly a half hour before they were scheduled to leave for Hogwarts, the rest of the invasion force began to arrive via the secure Floo Network that connected Order of the Phoenix safe houses. As Ginny watched her brothers usher the grim-faced visitors through the house to gather in the front yard, she wondered how the size of their group would measure against the swollen ranks of Voldemort's Death Eaters.

Would these people even get a chance to fight? As uncertain as their plan had been before, Harry's disappearance had thrown everything into disarray. It was down to just Ginny, Ron, and Hermione to slip past the castle's protections and gather the information they so desperately needed for their mission to succeed. And Ginny knew that she, at least, would be more focused on finding Harry than tracking down Voldemort and discovering the details of his plan.

At ten minutes before the scheduled eight o'clock departure time, everyone who would fight alongside Ginny and her family in the coming battle had arrived. Ginny's brothers returned from organizing the crowd outside to rejoin the rest of their family in the sitting room.

"Seventy-eight," said Charlie, with a glum look toward his father. "Not as many as we'd hoped."

"The rest have fled the country," added Percy. "In case we fail."

Mr. Weasley softened his sons' irritated looks with a shrug and a sigh. "Everyone has a family, and their first duty is to them." His voice held no hint of annoyance toward those who would not stand with him. "We'll make do with seventy-eight," he added, patting Charlie on the shoulder. Mr. Weasley paused to look around the room at _his_ family, those who were his by blood and those who had come to count just as much.

Ginny followed her father's gaze and – allowing herself, for the moment, to consider something other than Harry's disappearance – took stock of those others who composed everything that was good about her world:

Charlie, whose untamed personality was closest to Ginny's own.

Percy, who – after once turning his back on his family – had become one of the strongest bonds that held them together.

George, who had only just learned to laugh again thanks to his late twin's kindness. Would they all be seeing Fred again soon?

Bill, who had risen to stand next to their father as a leader, not just for their family but for the free wizarding world; who still doted on Ginny like a little girl while somehow never treating her like one.

Fleur, who Ginny would only now admit she had grown to think of as a sister, and little Victoire, who Ginny adored. Both of them would leave for France to stay with Fleur's parents the moment the invasion party left for Hogwarts.

Ron, who Ginny had grown so close to in Harry and Hermione's absence, who had been her rock and refuge during the worst period of her life.

Hermione, whose unmatched brilliance was nothing compared to her compassion and friendship. Any animosity that lingered from Hermione's past actions was wiped clean as the girl stood shoulder to shoulder with Ginny's family, ready to fight and possibly die with them.

Ginny's mum, who – despite her overbearing, overprotective ways – was the best woman Ginny had ever known, and in many ways, who Ginny secretly aspired to be.

Ginny's dad, the heart of the family, whose generosity, good nature, and open mind had shaped his children into the people they had become.

And then there was the one who was missing; whose presence was more pronounced due to his absence – who was as much of a son to Ginny's parents as their other children; as much of a brother to Ginny's siblings as they were to each other; and to Ginny, so much more.

The gravity of the moment welled up within Ginny and stunned her with its force. Even if they managed to overcome the odds and defeat Voldemort, it was unlikely that she would ever share the same room with all of her family again.

With a deep breath, Mr. Weasley broke the silence. "I look around this room, and despite how scared I am of what we're going up against today, what I feel the most is pride." The weight of what he wanted to say was apparent on his face, and he paused for a moment to look down and gather himself. "None of you have had an easy life . . ."

"Dad –" Bill interjected.

"No, it's true, son. Your mother and I couldn't give you everything we wanted to, everything you deserved. But I look at all of you now and I think . . . I think we did all right. Didn't we, Molly?"

Mrs. Weasley stepped to her husband's side, took his hand, and – with a watery smile – nodded her agreement. "You've given us more than all the gold in Gringotts ever could have, Arthur."

Mr. Weasley opened his mouth to speak but closed it. Blinking rapidly, he cleared his throat as he gazed appreciatively at his wife and squeezed her hand. With a steadying breath, he turned his attention back to the rest of his family.

"Each of you has always had the choice to stay out of the fight, to take the easier path. And to be honest, a part of me would rather you stay safe at any cost. But I am so proud to see you stand up for what you know is right. No matter what happens today, no matter what the days ahead might be like, I . . . I just wanted to tell you that. I love all of you more than I could ever say."

Ginny did not want to hear her father's words, which sounded too much like a goodbye, but on a deeper level she knew that she needed them; needed this moment to appreciate everything her family meant to her, and the opportunity to tell them her feelings before it became too late. Everyone else appeared to feel the same way as they all began to trade hugs and words of appreciation while they sniffled and wiped at tears.

"You're the best parents we could have ever hoped for," called Bill from across the room where he held his wife and child close to him. "We wanted for nothing."

Mr. Weasley finally let loose a few tears and nodded appreciatively to his eldest son.

With a growing fear for her family added to her desperate need to find Harry, Ginny was not certain how she managed to stay upright and steady as she and the others joined the group outside, who waited under an appropriately grim sky cluttered with dark, grey clouds. As Ginny gave brief greetings to those she knew, she quickly caught the mood of the gathering, which felt nothing at all like the prelude to an historic victory – it felt like a funeral. As the group prepared to leave, there were no rousing speeches, no show of fighting spirit. Just the resigned faces of those whose hearts were too good and too big to run away.

Bill reminded everyone of the agreed-upon Apparation point, a secluded woodland area just beyond the impenetrable magical barrier surrounding the school grounds. It was a long journey so they would need to stop at a few spots along the way. As Bill counted down to the moment they would all Disapparate together, Ginny took one last, long look at the Burrow, studying its every detail in case this was the last chance she would ever get to gaze upon her home.

* * *

Ginny could just make out a part of the castle's silhouette far off in the foggy distance, through the crisscrossing tree braches that concealed their group. The instant that her feet had slammed into the solid dirt floor of the forest, she felt a thrill of fear and an eagerness to get started. Harry had to be there somewhere; close enough, perhaps, that he would hear her if she was able to safely call out to him. That is, if he still lived . . .

Ginny gathered her strength and shook off her dark thoughts. If she had any hope of seeing Harry again, she had to keep her wits about her. And more than anything – more, even, than returning home herself – Ginny _had_ to see Harry again, even if it was the last time. She could not bear the thought that his final memory of her would be of their terrible last night together.

As the assembled witches and wizards settled in, scouted the area, and established a defensive perimeter, Ginny joined Ron and Hermione. The couple exchanged uneasy looks with Ginny that reflected her own trepidation at what was to come next.

"We're up," said Ginny, trying to at least _sound_ confident.

"In a minute," said Ron, who watched the activity going on around them.

Ginny began to tap her foot again as she fought against her need to take action. Their situation had begun to seem so hopeless while trading farewells with her family back at the Burrow, and now, in the presence of the thing she had feared and dreaded for days, Ginny thought she might crumple under the weight of it all if she gave herself too much time to think.

"Ginny . . . ?" It was Dean Thomas, who had emerged from the crowd behind Ginny with his best friend Seamus in tow. "I just wanted to say good luck – to all of you," he added, with a look toward Ron and Hermione. "I know you'll do great."

"Good luck," Seamus echoed as he reached out and shook Ron's hand. "Don't go gettin' yourself into any trouble before we've had our chance."

Putting his hands in his pockets, Dean gave Ginny a wan smile and then turned to walk away.

"Dean . . . wait." Ginny was not sure what to say, but despite his recent unwanted advances, Dean was a good man who had, in the past, stood by both her and Harry. Keenly aware that her every exchange with a person might be her last, Ginny stepped up to Dean and hugged him. "Thank you . . . for trying to help," she offered. "You've been a good friend when I . . . haven't always been."

Dean gave Ginny a genuine smile, despite her specific use of the word "friend." He stared into her eyes as she stepped away, and then offered his hand. "Be careful out there, all right?"

Ginny managed a small smile as she took his hand and shook it. "I'll try."

With a final nod to Ron and Hermione, Dean led Seamus away. But before Ginny could pick up her previous train of thought, others approached her little group to offer their words of encouragement, including Kingsley Shacklebolt and professors Flitwick and McGonagall. But it was Cho Chang's words that had the greatest impact on Ginny. The two girls had never really spoken, despite having shared an interest in Harry. As Cho stood before her with horrible scars, deadened eyes, and missing an arm, Ginny could no longer muster any of the jealousy or resentment she had felt for the girl she once considered a rival.

"Let's do this for Harry, Ginny." Cho ignored Ron and Hermione completely and looked directly into Ginny's eyes as she spoke. "So that he can rest a little easier, knowing that his work is finally done."

Ginny could only nod as she stared at Cho, who had no clue how profound her words were at that moment.

Finally, Ginny's family was there to wish them well. With pale, stoic faces that did little to mask their terrible worry, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley embraced Ginny, Ron, and Hermione. When it was Ginny's turn to be held in her mother's arms, she clutched her tightly, seeking some of the safety and assurance she had always found there.

"I know you'll be just fine," Molly whispered into her daughter's ear. "I know what a . . . a worrywart I can be, but I want you to know that I do realize how exceptional you are, Ginevra. How . . . how very _special_ you are. You can do this; I know you can."

Tears streamed down Ginny's face as she basked in the words she had desperately needed to hear for so long. She allowed herself to hope, and tried to ignore the fact that her mother's very presence betrayed her apparent confidence. Ginny knew that, like herself, her mother could not bear to stay behind when the situation was this desperate; when their family could be at its end.

"You won't let us down," Mrs. Weasley continued. "And neither will Harry." With one last squeeze, she let her daughter go and turned away to – Ginny suspected – hide emotions that would betray her encouraging words.

Ginny, Ron, and Hermione now stood alone, facing their family and the many others who depended on them to bring back the information that could mean victory or death.

"It's time," said Bill, in a voice that was barely audible.

Slowly, the three members of the scouting party turned and began to walk toward the clearing that led out of the woods. They had taken only a few steps, however, when Ron came to a stop.

"Wait," he said.

"What is it?" said Hermione.

"Just . . . wait a minute." Ron took a long look at Hermione, and then glanced back at the group that still grimly watched the three of them as if they were marching to their deaths. Ron appeared to be every bit as unsteady as Ginny felt. With wide eyes, he turned back to Hermione and stared at her intensely.

"Ron?"

"Marry me."

"What?"

"Marry me, Hermione. Tomorrow. At the Burrow."

As Hermione stared at Ron in blank shock, Ginny understood. She knew that Ron truly loved Hermione, and that he would have asked her this same question someday in a different place, in a different way. But this was his declaration that they would make it through the day alive; that tomorrow would bring a better world.

Without once looking away from Ron, Hermione finally gave a small nod. "Yes," she said, releasing a held breath and breaking a smile. "Yes, Ron, I'll marry you."

Ron did not immediately register her acceptance, but then he blinked, smiled, and pulled her to him.

"Um . . . congratulations," said Ginny automatically. The whole thing was very surreal.

With a wide smile that seemed strangely out of place, Ron called back to their mother over his shoulder while still holding Hermione. "Sorry for the short notice mum, but can you get everything together by tomorrow afternoon?"

Mrs. Weasley was crying, looking as if her heart was breaking rather than bursting, but a smile flickered onto her face. "O-Of course," she said. "Who do you th-think you're talking to?"

With a last grin toward his mother, Ron turned back to Hermione. "I don't have a ring . . ."

"I don't need a ring," she said with a sniffle as a tear spilled down her cheek. "I just need you."

Ron kissed her, then sighed and let her go. "C'mon, then," he said. "Let's get this over with so we can go home." With a newly determined spring in his step, Ron took Hermione's hand and led them out of the trees, toward the castle in the distance.

As the three members of the scouting party slowly, cautiously began to head toward the castle, they moved between patches of trees and shrubs, groups of rocks, and anything that could provide cover. It helped that the sky was overcast and that a thick morning fog lingered across the grounds. Not far from the woods they had Apparated into, they reached the magical dome that covered the school grounds.

"Can you feel that?" asked Ginny. There was so much magic in the air that it seemed to buzz in her bones.

"I think this is it," said Hermione, squinting her eyes as if trying to see the invisible barrier. "It's somewhere right in front of us . . ."

"Well," sighed Ron, "I guess this is where we find out if Lucius's tattoos are worth having to wear long sleeves for the rest of our lives." As if checking that his Dark Mark was in fine working order, Ron pulled back his sleeve and stared at the hated skull and snake that stained the inside of his forearm. Ginny and Hermione followed his example and all three of them held out their exposed arms as they walked toward the barrier, as if they were inserting keys into a lock. In just a few steps Ginny felt something like an electric breeze whoosh over her, rippling through her hair and blowing back her robes. But by the time she froze and held her breath in alarm, the sensation had passed. With a glance at Ron and Hermione she saw that they, too, appeared to have penetrated the school's protections unharmed, although Hermione's hair was now even bushier than normal, charged with magical energy.

"Everyone still got all their fingers and toes?" asked Ron. Ginny responded with a sigh of relief while Hermione patted her hair back down. "Good. Let's keep moving before we're spotted. Now that we're on school grounds, we're bound to run into Death Eaters soon."

Ron was quickly proven right. They walked for only a minute more before coming across a sentry dressed in full Death Eater robes, and took a longer path to curve around his position. Moments later, another guard passed right by them as they squatted behind a thick tree trunk to plan their next move. They hadn't noticed his approach, and it was by pure luck they weren't discovered. Ginny's heart beat so loudly in her chest that she had feared it would give her away. She saw that her hand was trembling, and pressed it to her stomach in an attempt to still its movements. The fear and pressure that built as she closed in on the castle was nearly overpowering.

"Where do you figure we should start?" whispered Ron once the guard was gone.

Hermione nervously scanned the castle, which was now within sprinting range if they had to make a run for it. "If he's gathering all of his Death Eaters," she reasoned, "he's going to need a lot of room."

"The Great Hall," whispered Ginny.

Hermione nodded. "Either there or someplace outside the castle, and we've only seen a few scattered guards out here so far."

"But we can't just walk into the Great –"

"Shhh!" Ginny held out a hand to silence her brother; she had just heard something like a footstep in the grass nearby. She immediately heard another, and from the corner of her eye, caught a glimpse of someone moving toward them, only a step away. For a single, frozen moment of terror, Ginny shot a horrified look at Ron and Hermione, knowing they were about to be discovered. Her next words seemed to bypass her brain and leapt straight to her mouth, where they rushed out in a desperate whisper.

"_Kiss her_!"

For a fraction of a second Ron stared at Ginny, dumbfounded, before Hermione took his head in both of her hands and yanked his lips to hers.

"What's this, then?" came the hooded Death Eater's gravelly voice. It was the sentry they had mistakenly thought moved on.

"Oh!" gasped Hermione, popping her lips free from Ron's with a look of innocent surprise, as if they were nothing more than a couple of smitten students on an amorous adventure. Ron's look of alarm and confusion was no act.

"Well, well," said the Death Eater, and Ginny could sense the smile beneath his hood. "Caught out of bounds, eh? Just 'cause there ain't no classes today don't mean you get to do whatever you please. You're s'posed to be gettin' to the Great Hall."

"S-Sorry," stuttered Hermione. "We'll go straight there." She began to rise with Ron and Ginny, but the Death Eater halted their movements with his outstretched wand.

"Hold on, now," he said, and then took off his hood. He was bald, probably in his fifties, with one scarred, blind eye. He knelt before them and quickly scanned the surrounding area with a furtive glance. "You three little rule breakers are lookin' at whippins, at least – maybe even the Cruciatus Curse. But, ah . . . maybe we can work somethin' out. I've got a soft spot for you students, y'see; you're real lucky it was me what found ya." His good eye flicked between Ginny, Ron, and Hermione while he grinned like a spider that had found three flies in its web. "I like your style, mate," he said, turning to Ron. "Got two girls on the go, both up for a sneaky little snog . . . more than you can handle, I imagine. If you were to share a little, I might be willin' to look the other way just this one time."

Ginny felt revulsion join her fear, and surreptitiously inched her hand toward the wand pocketed inside her robes. She eyed the Death Eater's wand and wondered if she could strike before he cast a curse, and if there might be anyone else nearby who would hear a scuffle.

"C'mon ginger," chuckled the Death Eater as if he was asking a simple favor of a friend. "Don't be stingy, now. You might even learn a thing or two." He looked from Ron to Hermione and placed a wrinkled hand upon her knee, and Ginny thought for certain that Ron would attack. But he held his anger for the moment, striking only with a murderous glare.

"What do ya say, girlie?" he said to Hermione, now rubbing her leg. "You don't want the kind of punishment that you'll be getting' otherwise, I promise ya. I've gotten plenty of yer classmates out of a jam with my . . . generosity." He leaned closer to leer at Hermione through his narrowed eye, but his perverted grin faltered once he got a good look at her scarred skin. "Eh, maybe not you, ugly. What'd you do to yer face, anyway?" He turned to Ginny and found his smile again. "What about you, freckles? Yeah, you'll do . . . you'll do real nice. I know just the spot, nice 'n' quiet, not far from here . . ." He cupped Ginny's cheek, and she thrust her arm into her robes and grasped her wand.

"Is there a problem here?"

Ginny shot a startled look sideways to see another guard approaching them, and did not pull her wand out into the open. The old, bald Death Eater gave them a vicious glare.

"Keep yer mouths shut or I'll skin ya alive," he growled in a low, venomous voice, with no trace of the genial air he had put on before. Apparently even Death Eater regulations did not sanction the molestation of students. He stood to address the newcomer and his friendly tone returned. "There's no problem, Lowsley. Just came across some ruddy kids where they shouldn't be, is all." He gave Ron's leg a kick. "Bugger off now, or you'll be late."

Ginny, Ron, and Hermione seized their chance. They leapt to their feet and – careful not to catch anyone's eye – hurried to cover the remaining distance to the castle's oak front doors. Ginny could hear the new Death Eater questioning the first, but did not look back as she fought to manage the surge of emotions that rode a rush of adrenalin.

"What are we doing?" said Ron in a panicked whisper. "We can't just walk into the Great Hall! What'll we do when we run into a Death Eater who recognizes us, or . . . or a student that we know?"

"What else can we do with those two watching us back there?" said Hermione with a quick glance over her shoulder. She was clearly rattled but impressively in control. "We can't duel the both of them or run away without attracting more attention. Just . . . just keep your head down and let's try to lose ourselves among the students."

Ginny agreed with Ron that exposing themselves this way seemed like suicide, but Hermione was also right; they had no other options. If only there had been time, Ginny thought, for Hermione to brew a new batch of Polyjuice Potion after all her reserves had been given to Harry. Ginny perked up at the small mention of Harry inside her mind, which pushed him back to the forefront of her thoughts. Her resolve to find and help him steeled her nerves enough to push recklessly forward. Without knowing what expression she wore as she traded one last look with Ron and Hermione, Ginny joined them in pushing open the castle doors.

They stepped through the entrance, past the suits of armor that flanked it on both sides, and were met with a smattering of students who clopped along the flagstone floor on their way to the Great Hall. The opening of the front doors had drawn some attention, but Ginny, Ron, and Hermione were careful not to meet any curious gazes as they inserted themselves into the flow of bodies that filed out of the room. As Ginny cast her eyes toward an empty corner, she spotted the four giant hourglasses that kept track of house points; only the one for Slytherin house contained even a single gem, and it was filled to the brim.

Ginny's terror reached a new level as she entered the Great Hall. It appeared that they had arrived with the last few straggling students since the enormous room was already filled with witches and wizards from every year, who ate breakfast amid the cacophony of clanking utensils and conversation. Hundreds of faces flashed before Ginny, any of which could be the one that would notice her party and give them away. She felt Hermione grip her arm tightly and urge her to walk faster, and with a swift glance sideways, she saw that Hermione was tugging Ron along, too.

"Don't stop," whispered Hermione. "Don't look up – just get to the Gryffindor table."

Ginny held her breath as the three of them first passed the Slytherin table, followed by the ones for Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, with more of their camouflaging crowd of latecomers shedding away at each station. Avoiding everyone's eyes made things worse, because Ginny felt as though she could be struck down at any moment by some unseen attacker. But she kept her sights on the Gryffindor table at the far end of the room, and as she neared it, Ginny caught her first bit of good luck.

"Neville!" she breathed. Her former friend and Dumbledore's Army co-conspirator sat at the end of the bench with enough space beside him for all three of them to possibly squeeze into. Shaking her arm free of Hermione's grip, Ginny took the girl's hand and pulled her forward even faster. Running the final few steps, Ginny plunged into the spot next to Neville while Ron and Hermione wedged in beside her. Startled, Neville snapped his head around and Ginny swiftly covered his mouth; she took the muffled exclamation beneath her fingers to be her name. She shushed him and glanced across the table at the only other nearby Gryffindors, a couple of unknown second- or third-years who appeared not to recognize Ginny or her companions, although they gave quizzical looks at her odd behavior. Neville pulled Ginny's hand away and whispered.

"Ginny! Don't tell me they got you, too!"

"Not yet," said Ginny. "But we –"

But before Ginny could launch into her explanation, Neville caught sight of Ron and Hermione and his wide eyes bulged even farther out of his head. He began to shout Ron's name in shock, and Ginny barely got her hand back over his mouth before he could give them all away. She put her lips to his ear and spoke in a rush.

"Listen, Neville – everyone in this room is in danger, and we're here to help. The Order of the Phoenix and a bunch of other people are just outside the grounds, getting ready to come charging in. But if the Death Eaters realize we're here, we're done for. So keep quiet, all right?"

Neville – his face turning pale at the news – nodded his head and Ginny removed her hand. He leaned in low, and Ginny, Ron, and Hermione did the same. Following Ron's worried glance across the table, Neville shot a stare at the eavesdropping Gryffindors that sent them back to eating their breakfast. "What kind of danger do you mean?"

"We're not exactly certain," said Hermione. "But we know that somehow, sometime today, Vol – can we say the name here?"

Neville shrugged. "I'm not sure; no one ever does."

"Well," Hermione continued, "You-Know-Who intends to kill all of the students as part of plan to become immortal."

Neville went, if possible, even whiter. But to his credit, he did not shrink from the revelation that he and his classmates were to be murdered. "How . . . how can I help?"

"I don't know, mate," said Ron. "We're kind of winging it, here."

As Neville absorbed the dual shock of his friends' sudden appearance and the terrible news that they brought, Ginny stole a sweeping glance across the Great Hall to look for anything out of place. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the Slytherin banners that now hung over every table, regardless of which house sat under them. She also spotted a row of framed portraits – each of a witch or wizard dressed in Slytherin colors – which wrapped around the entire room, midway up the walls. The enchanted ceiling complimented the dour décor, displaying the ominous grey sky from outside. It appeared that things were worse, even, than in Ginny's last year at the school when the Death Eaters were already in full control.

"They don't even pretend anymore, do they?" said Ginny.

Neville did not have to ask what she meant. "No," he said, sadly. "There's . . . there's no fighting them anymore."

Neville's voice was lifeless, and Ginny – who had once fought against the school's Death Eater regime alongside him – was brokenhearted to see that his spirit had been crushed so completely. "Neville, what happened?" she asked, placing a comforting hand upon his arm. "What did they do to you?" Unlike their last meeting, Neville bore no obvious scars or signs of mistreatment, but when he responded, his voice faltered.

"N-Nothing," he said, looking away as his mouth thinned into a trembling line. "Not to me, anyway. They . . . they've gone beyond whippings and curses, now. If they really want to punish you . . . they put you in the Room of Requirement."

Ginny traded bewildered looks with Ron and Hermione as Neville gathered himself.

"They've figured it out, see . . . they know just how to work it. They have the room arrange itself around someone's greatest fears, and then chuck them in. If you're lucky, they only leave you in there for a few hours. But if you've done something to really set them off, or . . . or if they want to send a message, they keep you in for longer. People don't come out the same . . ." Neville wiped at his eyes, and then gave Ginny a broken, remorseful look. "Luna was in there for three days."

The Great Hall faded away and, for a moment, Ginny's only thought was of her fanciful friend. "What . . . what did she do?"

"Nothing," said Neville, lowering his face into his hands. "It wasn't her punishment – it was mine."

Ginny did not have the heart to ask what rule Neville had broken. Instead, she put her arms around him while he pulled himself together.

"I don't know what she saw in there," Neville went on. "Or . . . or what was done to her. She looks the same, but she hasn't said a word since she got out, not even to me."

"Why are you two even here, Neville?" said Ron, his voice conveying anger at the injustice his friends had suffered. "Why do they keep you in school when you should've graduated by now?"

Neville pulled away from Ginny and sighed as he wiped his cheeks one last time. "They say that what we were taught before was all wrong; that we need to be re-educated. It's worse than before," he said with a look at Ginny. "They've completely rewritten wizarding history to make Muggles out to be monsters; they want to brainwash everyone into becoming future Death Eaters. And it's working. The young kids, you can see the effect it's having on them. They're bombarded with so much rubbish that, after awhile, they start to accept it. The older students like me – we know none of it's true. But still, I think the Death Eaters would rather have us under their thumb than out there, joining up with you lot."

Ginny did not know what to say; what Neville described was so horrible that it was hard to comprehend. But after a moment's pause, Ron brought her attention back to the matter at hand.

"We're running out of time," he said. "Neville, have you seen or heard anything unusual today? Anything at all?"

"Well . . . yeah, actually. There's a rumor going around that some trolls were seen on the grounds."

"Extra security," Hermione deduced. "For when You-Know-Who brings all of his Death Eaters together, taking them away from their posts. Anything else, Neville?"

But before he could answer, Ginny interjected. "You . . . you haven't seen Harry, have you?" Ginny knew that she would not have found Neville or the other students calmly eating breakfast if the Chosen One – who was thought dead – had made an appearance, but she had to ask.

"Huh? Harry who?"

Ginny shook off Neville's counter-question and dropped her disappointed gaze to the table, reminding herself that it was a good thing that Harry remained undiscovered. But Neville, despite his time apart from Ginny, still knew her well enough to sense the truth.

"Ginny . . . you don't mean to say –"

Neville's epiphany was cut short as the room turned toward the sudden sound of marching boots. A seemingly endless line of Death Eaters poured into the Great Hall and branched off into two rows: one that lined the far wall just inside the entrance, and one that passed through the back of the room to stretch down the opposite wall alongside the Gryffindor table. Ginny, Ron, and Hermione sank lower in their seats and did not dare speak or look up while the procession continued. The entire room fell silent as the students sat captivated by the army of hooded figures, and within minutes, the Great Hall was sandwiched between two rows of Death Eaters that stretched from the back of the room to the front, the tops of their hoods lined neatly under the Slytherin portraits. Ginny estimated that there were a hundred of them, at least. The double doors slammed shut, and once their echoing bang faded, the room was deathly still and silent.

"Oh God," breathed Hermione. "It's starting."

Ginny scanned the room hopelessly. There was no way out, no way to get back to the invasion force when leaving her bench would be sure to draw every eye in the room.

And then, at the front of the hall, another, much shorter row of Death Eaters entered through the door on the raised platform. These special few did not wear hoods, and were cheerfully led by Bellatrix Lestrange. Each of them took a seat at the staff table except for one, current Hogwarts headmaster Amycus Carrow, a squat, lumpy looking, black-haired wizard who Ginny hated more than any other Death Eater for the cruel acts he had performed on her classmates. He walked to the empty space where a podium normally stood and began to speak.

"You kids are in for something special," he began, with wide, eager eyes and a wheezy giggle as he gazed out over the sea of students before him. "Today we have a guest who needs no introduction; the greatest wizard of this age or any other. So shut your mouths and show some respect to your master, the leader of the new world . . ."

And then, as if conjured from a nightmare, he was there. He emerged from the door behind the staff table, wearing regal robes of shimmering emerald with ornate silver trim. His inner circle of supporters rose from their seats at the staff table to kneel as he passed them, and his red eyes seemed to glow from within the shadow of his hood as he took slow, deliberate steps toward the front of the platform.

Amycus bowed and backed away as Voldemort took his place. Bent low, he began to clap and was joined by the rest of the Death Eaters, who gave Lord Voldemort a resounding ovation. But other than a smattering of applause from the Slytherin table, the rest of the students remained still and in shock. Voldemort came to a stop and lowered his hood, and a jolt of fear struck Ginny as she took in his snakelike features; she could not reconcile what she now saw before her with the deceptively handsome face of the teenaged Tom Riddle.

"H-He's never shown up here before," said Neville.

Voldemort held up a bone-white hand and the applause ceased. "My Death Eaters," he said, with an approving glance at his supporters. "Today I bestow upon you a great honor, for you will be able to tell your sons and grandsons that you were here to witness a turning point in wizarding history; that you helped to usher in a new golden age; that you were present when your master became a god." Another thunderous cheer erupted from the hooded horde.

"No, Ron!" said Hermione, her words inaudible to anyone farther than a foot away as the Death Eaters roared on. Ginny saw Hermione clutching Ron's hand, which held his wand.

"I've got a clean shot, Hermione," he said, although he seemed uncertain. "I could –"

"Get us killed?" she finished. "If you cast a spell, the three of us will be hit with a hundred curses in an instant – and You-Know-Who will be fine, because he can't die while Harry is still alive."

"Yeah, all right," said Ron, stowing his wand back in his robes. "You're right."

This time Voldemort did not silence his supporters, but waited for their applause to fade before he continued to speak. "To the students of Hogwarts," he said, turning his red gaze on the four house tables, "I commend you for the role that you shall play in bringing about a new world of freedom and prosperity for our kind. A world that is not constrained by the walls of this castle or our other hidden communities; where we are no longer forced to conceal our brilliance from those who would envy us; seek to destroy us."

Unlike the Death Eaters, the students remained silent and gave no reaction to the Dark Lord's words.

"We shall no longer live in fear," Voldemort proclaimed. "To be born a wizard is to inherit greatness; let us pin our heritage proudly upon our chests and march forward together."

Suddenly, every student's goblet drained of its remaining contents and refilled with what looked like red wine. Voldemort conjured his own cup – a large chalice inlaid with glistening emeralds around its brim – and held it high.

"To the new world," he toasted, and then waited – a lipless smile upon his face – for the students to respond in kind. With the heavy gazes of a hundred Death Eaters upon them, the students reluctantly lifted their goblets and took a drink. Ginny, Ron, and Hermione – who had no cups to drink from – bent lower among the raised arms and tried to remain unnoticed.

"Ow!" cried Neville, amid countless similar outbursts that came from every table. "It bit me," he said, touching his bloody lip and turning to Ginny. "The cup _bit_ me!"

Ginny's eyes flashed back to Voldemort in time to see him drop his chalice to the floor, where it vanished amid a whirl of sparks and was replaced by a bubbling black cauldron so enormous that it came up to his chest. The Dark Lord's arm blurred and the Elder Wand was suddenly in his hand; he swiped it in an upward arc and the remaining liquid from every goblet – now mixed with each student's blood – snaked through the air like hundreds of pulsing veins and collected in the cauldron.

"Ahhh, yes," sighed Voldemort in satisfaction as he bent over his cauldron to breathe in the thick cloud of crimson steam that rose from inside. A triumphant smile lit his face, and for a moment he appeared to forget that anyone else was present. When he again took notice of the students who remained in their seats, looking alarmed and mystified, he attempted a sorrowful expression that failed to mask his joy.

"Alas, no great change can ever come without sacrifice, and I am afraid that in order for us to continue on with our just and noble cause . . . it is _your_ sacrifice that is required."

A low, panicked murmur filled the room, and some of the students shuffled in their seats as though they were considering escape. Ginny readied her wand to help them – and to flee herself – and checked Ron and Hermione to find them doing the same. Ginny's breathing sped and she felt numb with fear as she prepared to take action.

"For you see," Voldemort continued, calmly raising his voice above the clatter. "A revolution is only as strong as its leader, and in order to fulfill my crucial role in the days to come, I require _unbeatable_ strength; the kind that can only be bought with a bit of soul and a bit of life."

Scattered students from various tables started to rise to their feet. Along the walls on either side of the hall, a similar number of Death Eaters began to raise their wands. Voldemort ignored them all as his commanding voice reached a crescendo that rang throughout the room.

"Now, lend Lord Voldemort your strength and together we shall forge the future – and crush those foolish enough to stand in our way!"

The Dark Lord thrust his arm out before him, clenched his fist, and the room froze. The students became silent and absolutely motionless – the ones who had been in the process of standing hovered above their seats. For one terrifying moment, Ginny felt that all hope was lost until she realized that she could still move, and that Ron and Hermione were also unaffected. Ginny sank so low that she was halfway under the table, and gazed in horror at Neville, whose panicked eyes flickered helplessly around the room.

"The goblets," whispered Hermione. "They must have been filled with potion that mixed with the blood . . . that tied them to him somehow . . ."

"I detest the spilling of wizarding blood," Voldemort went on, the room now completely under his control. "This was not my original plan, but I take this action now for the greater good of our kind. Your professors have done an admirable job of reversing the damage that had been done to you by the former instructors of this institution; you could have gone on to do many great things. It is a pity that you shall not see the glorious new world that your contribution will help bring about." Voldemort paused to take in the horror-stricken faces of his immobile victims, then positioned himself at his cauldron and gave the potion inside a few stirs with the slightest swirl of his wand. "When finished, this potion shall complete the transfer of your offerings and turn them into the power that I need. But take heart, for while this magic requires a great number of you, we cannot afford to lose an entire generation. Some shall be spared. Wizarding genealogy will suffer only a temporary, but acceptable, setback, and our kind shall remain strong and vital, and even purer than before." Voldemort turned to directly address the far side of the room, which Ginny could not see from her position. "Young Slytherins, Lord Voldemort calls upon you to shape the future of our new society; to put to full use the wisdom and ambition that define our kind. Do you accept this challenge?"

"Yes," answered the unseen voices of Slytherin house, which appeared not to have been put under the spell that rendered the rest of the student body defenseless. Ginny could tell, from the scattered replies and the volume of their voices, that not every Slytherin student had spoken, and that many of those who had sounded more relieved than supportive of Voldemort's actions. But Ginny hated them all anyway, the whole detestable lot of pureblood bigots who, under the Death Eater regime at Hogwarts, had never shared the cruel punishments suffered by Ginny's friends; who, in many cases, had happily assisted in carrying them out. The thought that they alone would survive to inherit the wizarding world angered Ginny so much that her great fear was surpassed by rage.

"Good," said Voldemort, pleased despite the tenuous tone of the Slytherins' response. "Then you may leave us and return to your common room; your part here is done."

Ginny could picture the Slytherins file out of the room as she listened to their feet shuffle through the silence. When the last of them left and the doors banged shut once again, Voldemort addressed those who remained.

"To the rest of you – brilliant Ravenclaws, humble Hufflepuffs, brave Gryffindors – your sacrifice shall never be forgotten, and history will record your names so that future generations will learn of your contribution at this very school. Now . . . let us begin."

Ginny held her breath as Voldemort raised his wand toward the rows of students who sat as statues at their tables. In a single, thudding heartbeat, she scanned the room in desperation without any idea what she hoped to find. She saw the double doors across the hall and imagined the invasion force bursting through them. Then, in a final flash, her mind conjured the impossible image of Harry charging in to save them. But no one came, and as every eye in the room followed the Elder Wand while it slashed through the air, Ginny traded a final, fearful look with Neville.

Voldemort cast his spell and the students went limp, flew into the air, and spread among the dark clouds of the enchanted ceiling to hang there like lifeless dolls. The mass of bodies stretched to every wall and hovered high above the house tables, both rows of Death Eaters, Voldemort, and his closest supporters at the staff table. Every hooded face looked up to watch the figures slowly spin as they settled into place, until gradually – one by one – the Death Eaters lowered their stares to the three people who remained on the ground, huddled together at the end of the Gryffindor table, alone and exposed.

Ginny shook as her eyes leapt from Death Eater to Death Eater, returning their gazes. She could feel Hermione pressed against her, but neither of them moved an inch. Although she could not feel it in her numb fingers, Ginny knew that her wand was in her hand. Should she attack? Run?

And then Voldemort laid his eyes upon them. At first he appeared curious, perhaps wondering why his levitation charm had missed a few of its intended targets. But as Ginny looked into his horrible slit eyes, she could see a flare of recognition; could sense comprehension dawn. The look of triumph fell from his face.

"Seize them!"

Startled into action by the sudden ferocity of their master's command, many Death Eaters from both sides of the hall rushed to converge on Ginny, Ron, and Hermione, who stood back to back with their wands drawn. With every rapid heartbeat Ginny wrestled over whether or not she should fight against such impossible odds, and as she let the moments pass, she felt her opportunity to escape close completely. They were surrounded by a solid mass of armed Death Eaters, and when one of them stepped forward to snatch Ginny's wand, she did not resist. With no other options left, Ron and Hermione handed over their wands as well.

Ginny's arms were pulled roughly behind her and held in place while she looked back to Voldemort, who remained by his cauldron. He turned his cold stare from Ginny to Ron to Hermione as his mind seemed to scramble to come up with an explanation as to how they had come to be there and what it meant. Ginny knew that his biggest concern would be that the three of them still lived when he had believed the entire Weasley household to have been slaughtered by his spy. As Ginny looked into Voldemort's blood-red eyes from across the room, it was as if she could read his thoughts: had others survived as well? Were they here, somewhere? And most alarmingly, where was Harry Potter? It was a strange sensation given the circumstances, but Ginny felt a kind of relief at Voldemort's reaction because it came as final confirmation that he had not yet met up with Harry; that Harry was still alive somewhere.

The Dark Lord remained quiet as he considered the turn of events. From what Ginny understood, he had never told anyone about his spy, nor the fact that Harry's death over one year ago had been faked. His secrets had caught up to him – where would he turn for answers?

"Bring the Weasley girl to me, now!" he snapped, pointing at Ginny. She was shoved forward by the man binding her arms and stumbled to catch herself. Ron cried her name, and she glanced back at him as she worked to walk fast enough to keep up with her captor, who hurriedly steered her through the room toward his master. Ron watched her with a helpless and fearful expression while more Death Eaters held he and Hermione in place. The sounds of Ginny's struggles echoed around the room. She banged painfully against the Hufflepuff table as she was pushed past it, and when she finally reached the front of the hall, she was thrown forcefully against the raised platform that supported Voldemort and the Death Eaters at the staff table. Ginny was nearly dragged onto the platform as she scrambled to stay upright, and when her escort finally set her free, she caught her balance and looked up into the livid face of Lord Voldemort. He grabbed a handful of her long hair and she screamed in pain as he jerked her to him and whispered in her ear.

"I know you, Ginny Weasley," he said in a low, murderous hiss. "Potter prizes you above all others; no one is closer to him. You will tell me where he is, what he has planned – _everything_. You will tell me now."

"H-Harry's dead."

"_Liar_."

Voldemort released Ginny, reared back, and struck her across the face with the back of his hand, sending her crashing into the cauldron on the way to her knees. She heard both Ron and Hermione yell but could not see them as stars popped before her eyes. While she remained on the ground and regained her bearings, Voldemort turned his attention to her companions, who continued to shout and struggle.

"Kill the boy," he commanded. "Painfully. He has cost me much and must be made to suffer." Almost as an afterthought, he added Hermione's sentence. "The Mudblood can join the others," he said, gesturing airily toward the students suspended overhead. "Her small contribution to my glory will be the only thing her wretched life was ever good for." With a flick of the Elder Wand, an empty goblet that stood on the table next to Hermione filled with the same deep red potion that the students had drank. "Drink, Mudblood, or die where you stand."

"No!" shouted Ron, his voice raw. "NO!" He thrashed wildly and managed to break free, causing many more hooded figures to rush toward him.

"Ron, stop!" yelled Hermione. She beat the others to him and threw her arms around his neck. Her touch calmed him and he clung to her tightly as Death Eaters began to pry them apart. Tears streaked down Ron's face as Hermione whispered her final words into his ear, and then they were torn from each other. It was a short goodbye; it was all they would get.

Hermione was shoved to the table where the goblet full of potion waited. "Drink it," growled the man who had pushed her. Hermione wrung her hair anxiously as she approached the cup and then took it with trembling hands. She looked across the room at Ginny, who could only stare back in horror. Finally, Hermione fixed her gaze on Ron and kept it there as she put the cup to her lips and drank. She did not scream when the goblet bit her, and did not remove her eyes from Ron while her blood was added to Voldemort's cauldron along with the cup's remaining contents. She then stood stock-still, emotionless, until she was added to the crowd above with an impatient flick of Voldemort's wand.

This was it, then – Ginny would be tortured for information while her brother and best friend were killed. Hermione, at least, might have the luxury of a quick, clean death, but Ron would have to pay for slaying Nagini, Voldemort's beloved snake and Horcrux. The castle's protections were still in place and no rescue would be coming. But as Ginny touched her fingers to her stinging cheek, something ignited inside her. Here, at the end, she found herself suddenly free of fear. Now that death was inevitable, it was no longer something to concern herself with. What mattered now was _how_ she died. And she would die fighting.

Hermione's late addition to Voldemort's cauldron agitated the potion inside, and the Dark Lord hastened to bring the reaction under control. Ginny was momentarily left to gather her courage for what was to come, but she was distracted by a large, broad-shouldered Death Eater who approached Ron.

"I'll finish this one," said the hulking wizard, who dropped his hood to reveal himself as Gregory Goyle. Ron's old nemesis moved a step closer and stared at him menacingly with small eyes. Without waiting for anyone's approval, Goyle raised a long, gorilla-like arm to aim his wand at Ron. "Blood traitor filth," he said in a raspy voice. "You come in here and disrespect the Dark Lord, this is what you get." Goyle glanced at Voldemort as he spoke; he had obviously seized this moment to make an impression and perhaps raise his profile among the Death Eaters.

"Bastard," spat Ron, his heartbreak over Hermione twisting into anger at this final outrage. "I saved your bloody life back in the Room of Requirement when your daft mate Crabbe set the whole damn place on fire, and now you're going to kill me? When I don't even have a wand? _Coward_."

"You shut your mouth!" Goyle snapped back, his face turning red. "You think you can talk to me like that? You might've had your way when we were in school, but you're nothin' without Potter to wipe your arse, and that bitch," he pointed toward Hermione above, "tellin' you what to do."

"Come on then, if you think you're hard enough," challenged Ron. "Give me back my wand if you're not afraid of a fair fight."

Goyle's wand shook in his ham-sized hand as he held it on Ron, his face burning with hatred. But he jerked his arm down and walked in a huff to a group of Death Eaters who stood a few steps away. "Gimme that," he said, snatching Ron's wand from the Death Eater who held it. Goyle tossed it to Ron and it clattered across the floor to his feet. "You think I'm scared of you, Mudblood lover?" A few of Goyle's fellows called out warnings and stepped forward, but before anyone had a chance to stop him, Goyle cast his first curse. Ron had only just bent down and reclaimed his wand when the spell hit, but was lucky that, in Goyle's rush to gain an advantage, his aim had been terrible. Ron rolled to the side as a large chunk of the table beside him was blasted into bits, and the battle was on. The crowd of Death Eaters fell back now that spells were flying, leaving Ron and Goyle a large, open space in which to maneuver.

Meanwhile, Voldemort gave the impression that the battle was beneath his notice. Having calmed the churning of his precious potion, the Dark Lord once again made Ginny his priority and turned a deaf ear to the yells and crashes that now filled the hall. While Ginny could not help but hang on her brother's every move and near miss, she understood that the duel was a useless endeavor – that even if Ron were to win, he had a hundred more Death Eaters to deal with.

With a strange mix of electric nerves and a clammy numbness, Ginny stood to meet her fate face-to-face as Voldemort hastened to her. "Go to hell," she said with all the defiance she could muster. "I won't tell you anything."

"I am done asking," he hissed, and his burning eyes bored into hers.

Voldemort tore into her untrained, unprotected mind with a force that felt like a crushing physical blow. Ginny was momentarily stunned, feeling as though she could not catch a breath while she caught flashes of memories in her mind's eye. Voldemort yanked images forward and then threw them aside, raiding her most private thoughts as if he were ransacking her room. Ginny had never experienced anything like it; the sensation was violent and horrifyingly intimate. She struggled to keep up with Voldemort's search but only caught glimpses of the discarded thoughts left in his wake. Just when she could not take any more – when her head felt as if it were splitting in two – Voldemort withdrew. Ginny took in a deep, desperate breath and opened her eyes to find that she was once again on the floor. Voldemort stood over her, holding her arm aloft and examining the Dark Mark that had been stained into it – the key Lucius had provided that allowed Ginny to bypass the school's defenses. Voldemort's face was so wild with anger that he appeared to have gone mad.

"LUCIUS!" he bellowed. His slit eyes darted around the hall and scanned his supporters, who were now scattered from one side of the room to the other, leaving only a clearing in the center for Ron's fight, which raged on. Despite the booming battle, every Death Eater's hood turned toward Voldemort's angry outburst, and after a long moment, a lone figure took a slow step in the Dark Lord's direction. Voldemort moved to the side of Ginny and slashed his wand through the air, causing the Death Eater to fly through the room and land in a heap at his master's feet. With another whip-like swipe of the Elder Wand, Lucius Malfoy's robes were shredded into nothingness, leaving him naked on the platform. He looked up with wide, terrified eyes as Voldemort began to pace before him, incensed.

"I knew you were a fool," spat Voldemort, his words fast and sharp. "That whatever promise you had once shown had since been ruined by countless failures. But I must say, Lucius, I never would have suspected that you were capable of such treachery."

"M-My lord," sputtered Lucius, quivering as he bowed his head so low that it touched the floor. "I-I . . . I . . . There are o-others coming – they may already be here, amassing just outside the castle's protections, preparing to strike . . ."

So this was Lucius's last-ditch effort to save his life, thought Ginny. Despite his supposed hatred of Voldemort for killing Draco, the man cared first for his own neck. With no way to excuse his betrayal or contest the truth Voldemort had seen in Ginny's memories, Lucius would reveal all that he knew of the planned attack with the hope that it would buy him leniency.

"T-There is more, my lord . . . I beg of you, have mercy and I will tell you all that I know . . ."

Voldemort stopped pacing and leaned down to look at Lucius face-to-face. Voldemort's back was now to Ginny, and she fought to make her legs move, to manage her body as her mind slowly stopped spinning.

"What use have I for filth like you when I have the Weasley girl, who doubtlessly knows more and whose unguarded mind is an open book?"

"M-Master," choked Lucius, with the air of a man grasping at his last straw. "I was one of your most loyal servants for so many years . . . p-please . . . I beg you . . ."

"Then let me repay you with a reward befitting your service," hissed Voldemort. He then spoke so quietly that only Lucius and Ginny could hear. "You shall be the first to witness a new spell of my own creation – one that was crafted with knowledge that I gained while entertaining our mutual friend in the Chamber of Secrets . . ." Voldemort's words jolted Ginny with graphic images of the horrible experiments he had performed on Harry during the course of his capture, and she knew that Lucius had traded his last chance at dignity and defiance for nothing. Voldemort straightened up and leveled his wand at his cowering servant, who pitifully scrambled backward on all fours. Voldemort cast his curse with relish.

"_Perfringo_!"

The spell struck Lucius in the legs as he attempted to get away, and he instantly crumpled and let out a chilling, high-pitched scream that went on and on as he clawed at his legs in a kind of crazed agony. In between Lucius's shrieks, Ginny heard a maniacal giggling and spotted Bellatrix leaning over the staff table, greedily taking in the debut of Voldemort's new curse as if she was being given the treat of a lifetime.

"Tell me Lucius," said Voldemort maliciously, shouting over the screams. "As the first to ever experience the effects of my new spell, how does it feel to have your every bone crushed into powder as the curse works its way through your body?" Lucius could not respond and likely was no longer aware of Voldemort or anything else as he shrieked, spluttered, and sobbed, the once proud Death Eater dying piece by agonizing piece. With a final, contemptuous look, Voldemort muted Lucius's wailing with a silencing charm and left him to suffer.

The Dark Lord turned back to Ginny, who braced herself, but then they were both distracted by a chain of almighty booms that shook the hall. Ginny looked back to the battle, which had not ceased while the rest of the room had turned its attention to Lucius. Goyle had blown the house tables to bits in his attempts to kill Ron in the most violent and impressive ways possible. But Ron, who remained purely on the defensive, appeared to have been too fast for Goyle to catch.

Goyle gave a frustrated yell and paused his attack, panting as sweat poured down his face. "What's the matter, not used to fighting your own battles without Potter and your Mudblood whore?"

"That's rich," said Ron with a dark laugh. "You couldn't zip up your trousers without Malfoy or Crabbe there to do it for you. How _are_ your best mates these days, anyway?"

Goyle's eyes bulged with rage as he pulled back his wand and swung it forward with everything he had. An enormous wave of acid green liquid erupted from the wand and roared toward Ron, but Goyle's attack had come too slow. The moment he had reared back, Ron dashed forward and quickly closed the gap between them. Ron threw up a shield charm when he was only a few feet from Goyle, and the great wave crashed against it and splashed back upon its caster.

The scream that issued from under the fluid seemed too high-pitched to have come from Goyle. The Death Eaters near him scattered as he thrashed and splashed the area around him with the green liquid, which hissed, popped, and smoldered wherever it struck. Once the Death Eaters were safely out of reach, they doused Goyle with various spells until he lay clean, still, and steaming upon the floor. His raw frame seemed much slighter than it had been before.

As horrible as the scene was to behold, Ginny felt a momentary thrill of victory for her brother until the rest of the Death Eaters turned their eyes from Goyle's withered body back to Ron. Perhaps sensing, as Ginny did, that he was seconds away from a more direct execution, Ron stood with his chest out and addressed the crowd.

"Who's next?"

At first, Ginny did not see what good Ron's bravado could do – he had been lucky in facing Goyle, who was stupid and hotheaded enough to fight one-on-one – but then another Death Eater pushed past his fellows and approached the battle area. He was even larger than Goyle, and his robes stretched tight across his chest. He stood before Ron, removed his hood, and spoke in a deep, coarse voice.

"I like your spirit, Ginger. And I've got to say, watchin' your fight got me all worked up . . ."

Ginny saw her shock reflected in Ron's eyes as he stared in alarm at Fenrir Greyback. "No . . ." she whispered, knowing that her brother now faced a gruesome, prolonged death.

"_Imperio_!"

Ginny's worries were suddenly wiped away as she was overcome by a blissful sense of tranquility. Her eyes unfocused, she no longer noticed Ron or anything else, and the only sounds that reached her were muffled and indistinct, as if she were underwater. Ginny was content to be carried along with the floating sensation that filled her entire being, and when an echoing voice told her to turn around, she did so gladly. Following the voice further, she knelt at Voldemort's feet. He took her head in his hands and tilted it upward, and Ginny was vaguely aware of two crimson orbs that burned through the haze in her head.

This time Ginny did not race to keep up with Voldemort's search through her thoughts, but instead drifted along in his wake, glimpsing the memories he discarded with no concern. She saw scenes from her past few weeks at the Burrow; caught flickers of Fleur's foiled attack. Voldemort finally pulled an image to the forefront of her mind and lingered on it – it was the invasion party as it had been when Ginny left it, with her parents in front, grimly watching her leave as though they never expected to see her again. And then the scene was shoved aside and the ones that followed flashed by even faster until Harry's face appeared. Voldemort took his time with these memories, and even through her fog of contentment, Ginny saw them clearly. She was holding Harry's hand while he told her family about the awful things he had endured; how Voldemort had hidden him away and tortured him for over a year.

Suddenly, Ginny did not like that Voldemort was looking at Harry in her memories. Even in her blissful state, it felt wrong somehow. She felt a rising need to protect Harry from Voldemort's prying eyes, to conceal him; put him out of reach. The fuzziness in Ginny's head began to clear away, and feeling returned that she had not realized she lost: aches all over her body; a splitting pain in her head; hear heart pounding so wildly that she felt it would burst. Sound rushed back into her ears and she felt her knees against the cold stone of the platform. Ginny was once again aware of the world around her, even though she continued to see only inside her head. With a growing determination, she fought as hard as she could to push Voldemort away from her memories of Harry, but he would not budge. And then she remembered why Harry had said Voldemort could no longer enter his mind; that his thoughts were poisonous to the Dark Lord when he focused on those he loved.

Ginny pulled at a very private memory, a morning from the past week when she and Harry had lain in bed together, touching, kissing, and glowing in each other's presence. She felt an immediate reaction; her world quaked as the once-calming voice commanded her to subvert her will. But she would not, and as Ginny began to pile on more of her favorite moments with Harry, she felt Voldemort withdraw from her completely.

Ginny had only just opened her eyes when her face was smashed into the side of the cauldron, and before she could catch a breath, it was smashed again. The world was black and she began to gag as her mouth filled with blood. She flung her arms wildly about, blindly trying to fight off her attacker. Her hands struck Voldemort's arms as he fought to subdue her, and she clawed at them desperately. But her struggle was useless. She was thrown to the floor and then kicked so hard in the stomach that blood exploded from her mouth and splattered the cold stone floor. She sucked at the air uselessly, unable to draw a breath as she writhed in pain.

"_Crucio_!"

The torment she had felt before was nothing compared to this. Ginny did not want to feel or think or _exist_ for a second longer. Time had no meaning as razors sliced every inch of her; as her every nerve burned in the fire. There was no resistance, nothing that could be brought to her defense against her endless suffering. At that moment, she would have gladly traded all that she held dear for the glorious gift of death.

After what felt like days, the Cruciatus Curse was lifted, leaving a heap upon the floor that bore little resemblance to Ginny Weasley. She slowly pushed open her heavily lidded eyes and saw her brother in the distance, his robes torn and face bloody. He stood on shaky legs while Greyback circled him and the surrounding crowd of Death Eaters roared in anticipation of Ron's death.

Ginny felt a pair of hands clench around her throat and she was pulled back up to her knees and held there, her body hanging limply. Voldemort lowered his eyes to hers once more, and with no ounce of strength remaining, all Ginny could think to do was spit blood into his hated face. This earned her another blow to the head before Voldemort stabbed back into her mind like a jagged knife.

Ginny felt his fury as he thrust himself deeper and deeper into her thoughts, and she watched helplessly as he sped through every conversation she had shared with Harry since his return. So powerful was Voldemort's mental assault that his presence began to warp and pervert her memories: she saw his red eyes burning out at her from the faces of her family; spotted him standing among Harry and her family while discussing the invasion plan; and, horrifyingly, it was Voldemort's face that hovered above Ginny as Harry made love to her, a clawed hand now at her throat.

Ginny had lost the battle of wills completely, and retreated from Voldemort's furious search to hide within a treasured memory that would hold no interest to him. As Ginny distantly felt the Dark Lord's continued rampage, she danced with Harry in the backyard at the Burrow, resting her head upon his chest as they swayed under the night sky. She wrapped herself in Harry's warmth, feeling for once like the luckiest girl in the world as a soft summer breeze caressed her skin.

Her beautiful illusion burst like a bubble, and Ginny was again lying upon the platform in the Great Hall, broken in mind, body, and spirit. Voldemort had pulled out of her head and surely knew everything now. With effort, Ginny cracked her eyelids to see him standing above her, staring aimlessly with a wild, frozen face as he considered the rush of information he had just taken. She could tell it had cost Voldemort something to invade her mind, but it hardly mattered. Ginny did, however, feel a faint feeling of satisfaction that he had not been able to learn of Harry's whereabouts from her.

Voldemort took no notice of Ginny now; she had been bled dry and discarded. She wondered when the killing blow would come and was unsure whether she feared or welcomed it. Her eyes drifted upward and, in an almost dreamlike state, she recognized Michael Corner floating among the crowd of captive students high above her. He was silent and immobile like the rest of them, but his horrified eyes spoke volumes as they took her in. Ginny did not want to know what she looked like now; in whatever time she had left, she hoped that she would not have to see.

There was a piercing scream of pain and a roar of the crowd. Ginny rolled her head to see Ron fall while Greyback skidded to a stop about ten feet past him, with drops of blood arcing through the air between them. Ron hastily got back to his feet, but it was apparent that standing was as much as he could do.

"Pack it in, Ginger – I'm just too fast for you," chuckled Greyback, who looked no worse than when the fight started. "That wand only works if you can hit me with it."

Ron said nothing as the Death Eaters laughed and jeered. He was clutching his wand arm, which hung limply at his side. He lifted his wand a little, grunted in pain, and let his hand swing back down. Ginny thought of how far Ron had come over the past year, how he had thrown himself into combat training only for things to end like this. But as she watched her brother stand tall in the face of certain death, she felt nothing but pride. It might not have made much of a difference in the end, but after she and Ron had once been so weak – had needed to lean on each other when the ones they loved had left – today they had fought for as long and hard as they could; had summoned every ounce of strength and courage for the cause. No matter how the rest played out, thought Ginny, they could proudly take that with them.

"All right mate, we've had our fun," said Greyback, leveling a killing stare at Ron. "Normally I'd pick the meat off your bones, but you don't look too tasty – a bit stringy, I reckon. Still, I've got to give a little somethin' special to a crowd as riled up as this one . . ."

Ginny did not want to watch but she would not look away, not when Ron showed so much courage. He remained immobile and unable to raise his wand, but still did not back down. Greyback growled and, in the blink of an eye, was upon his prey. Ron was crushed within Greyback's massive arms, which trapped him while the werewolf slung back his head and bared his fangs for the final strike.

"_Reducto_!"

There was a great explosion at Ron's feet, sending both he and Greyback flying amid chunks of the floor and other bits of falling debris. Those in the crowd that were closest to the blast were also thrown back, and a cloud of dust filled the air and hung there. Ginny's heart surged with shock, pumping a little more strength through her system. She had not seen what had happened; did not know who had fired the curse or why.

After several moments of panic and confusion among the crowd, a shadow stirred on the ground. Through the haze, Ginny saw Greyback stumble to his feet and clutch a nearby Death Eater for support; he no longer looked as though he had been in an easy fight. Confusion continued to reign for a few more moments until Greyback spotted something on the ground and hobbled over to it. He punched his fist into a pile of rubble, withdrew Ron by his tattered robes, and lifted him up. He glared into Ron's eyes, which were miraculously open and alert.

"Forget what I said before," huffed Greyback. "If it takes me all week, I'm gonna eat every last bit of you."

There was no life in Ron's body, which swung in Greyback's grip like a ragdoll. But with what appeared to be his last breath, Ron tried to speak.

"T-Th . . . t-this . . ."

"I think I'll start with your tongue," said Greyback, ignoring Ron. "And then your eyes."

"T-This is f-for Bill . . . you bastard. _Reducto_."

With his wand still held limply in his hand, Ron sent a second Reductor Curse into the ground at their feet and the resulting explosion was even more terrible than the first. With no way to match Greyback's speed or even lift his wand, Ron had twice lured his enemy close enough to attack in the only way that he could. This time bits of debris reached as far as the platform where Ginny lay, and Voldemort could no longer ignore the scene that was descending into chaos while he obsessed over the mystery of his missing archenemy. He stepped just in front of the cauldron and swiped angrily at the air with the Elder Wand, and the room was instantly cleared of the cloud of dust that had grown thicker in the wake of the second explosion. Ginny could clearly see both bodies lying quite still in the rubble.

"Fools!" screamed Voldemort, the rage in his voice causing as much of a reaction among the Death Eaters as the explosions had done. "Were my orders not clear? With our enemies at the gates and my plan in jeopardy, could I not leave you to the simple matter of killing one boy?" The Death Eaters became as still as their master's intended victims high above, and the entire hall seemed to hold its breath while Voldemort glared at his men, possibly about to strike out at them.

A small shuffle drew every eye in the room – Ron's body was moving. Even Voldemort appeared at a loss for words as Ron's trembling form found a way to its knees. His face blank and his body blackened by the blasts, Ron sat in a broken heap and appeared not to register anyone around him. If Ginny had come upon her brother in that position without watching him settle into it, she would not have believed that he still lived.

And then, amazingly, he raised his arm to point a quivering finger at Voldemort.

"N-Next . . ."

Of all the possible reactions this could have triggered, Voldemort simply smiled, his anger momentarily tempered by this most unexpected absurdity. "Not very bright, are you?" he said.

"N-Nah . . . never was," said Ron, whose face broke into a shaky smile. "But my girlfriend's brilliant."

Ginny saw it first from her position on the floor – Hermione had dropped from the mass of students that floated overhead and was falling toward Voldemort, who still watched Ron. Time seemed to slow as Ginny's heart stopped and Hermione's robes billowed behind her . . . she was nearly there . . . she reached out her hand . . .

"_Crack_!"

Hermione was swatted from the air and struck the cauldron on her way to the ground, where she landed near Ginny and immediately clutched her side as though she had broken ribs. Voldemort had acted so quickly to defend himself that Ginny had not seen him move.

"YOU DARE?" he screamed, towering over both girls with inhuman rage. "YOU MUDBLOOD FIL –"

But Voldemort stopped short at the sudden rumble that came from within the cauldron, and spun around to see his potion churning violently. Great bubbling waves of it slopped over the sides, the drops quickly turning from crimson red to muddy brown. Voldemort whipped his wand into action and soon calmed his raging concoction, but judging by the dark, foul-smelling vapor that slowly spiraled from it, he had been too late. He stood over his cauldron, staring into it disbelievingly.

Ron broke the silence with a weak laugh. "You're gonna get p-poor marks for that one, mate."

Ginny looked sideways at Hermione and whispered in shock. "You weren't aiming for _him_ . . ."

"No," grunted Hermione in pain. With sharp breaths, she gingerly rolled onto her stomach to look across the room at Ron's battered body, and spoke in an empty, automatic voice. "High-level potions are very temperamental . . . I took a chance and threw in some of my hair. I slipped a few hairs into my goblet too, which cancelled the effects of the potion I drank."

Ginny stared at Hermione, in awe of her ability to have come up with any kind of plan while she was being sentenced to death. For the first time, Ginny fully understood why her friend had not been placed in Ravenclaw.

Ron appeared to have been let in on the plan, and in hindsight, Ginny thought she knew how. Hermione must have whispered quick instructions to him during their final embrace, and Ron's seemingly pointless fights were probably meant to stall for time and cause a distraction while Hermione moved among the students. The only thing that Ginny could not explain was how Hermione had broken the levitation charm to reach the cauldron. But then she saw it: a wand lay near Hermione's position on the platform, just out of reach on the floor below. Hermione could have taken it from any of the students – there had been no need for Voldemort to disarm them since they were unable to act – and then used it to cancel the spell.

Tears poured down Hermione's face as she looked at Ron, who returned her gaze with a feeble smile. Ginny realized that while Hermione had carefully worked her way across the top of the room and waited for the opportunity to strike, she would have had a clear view of every attack that struck the man she loved.

The students began to speak and move under their own power as the bond that had been forged between them and Voldemort broke – the Dark Lord's only remaining hold on them was a simple levitation charm. At least for now, they had been saved. Saved, Ginny thought wryly, by Hermione's famously bushy brown hair. She felt a bizarre impulse to smile but her throbbing face could not manage it.

Ginny watched Ron and Hermione look upon each other with soft, sorrowful expressions, and understood that the couple had known their gambit could end only one way. Ginny slid a shaky hand across the stone platform, smearing the blood that had pooled beneath her, and found Hermione's fingers. She gave them a small squeeze to convey her gratitude for what she and Ron had done – for giving her own death purpose.

Voldemort's wide eyes finally shifted from the sludge inside the cauldron to Ginny and Hermione, who lay helplessly before him holding hands. The impossibility of his failure seemed to have temporarily taken him beyond words or rational thought, but as Ginny stared defiantly into his face for a final time, she could see the spark reigniting; could sense his fury building to an eruption that would finish them at last. His hands gripped the sides of the cauldron and it began to shake.

Ginny closed her eyes and was again in Harry's arms, swaying to the music under a starry sky . . .

"TOM RIDDLE!"

Ginny's eyes flew open at the booming voice. Like her, everyone scanned the Great Hall for the source of the disturbance, but there was no sign that anyone new had entered.

"WHO DARES?" said Voldemort. The inexcusable use of his former name fired up his fury to the point where he appeared paralyzed with rage.

"You are a plague upon this school," the bodiless voice continued, not quite as loud but no less severe. "You have defiled its halls with your twisted teachings and the cruel, unforgivable treatment of its students. But today, your reign of terror comes to an end."

Ginny saw them now, a procession of witches and wizards that moved through the row of portraits along the walls, pushing past the Slytherin occupants of each gilded frame. In the lead was Albus Dumbledore, his blue eyes blazing over his half-moon spectacles with a quelling look that Ginny could never have imagined upon his face. The newcomers halted their advance when each of them occupied their own portrait, and Dumbledore addressed Voldemort once again.

"We, the headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts – who have sworn above all else to honor and serve this school and its students – have come to bear witness to the fall of the foulest creature who has ever walked within these walls; to at last see your dark stain erased from this castle and from the world." Dumbledore's fellows roared their approval of his words.

There was a stunned pause, and then Voldemort gave a derisive laugh. "_You_, destroy _me_? Perhaps you have forgotten that you are _dead_, Dumbledore. DEAD!" His last word was a scream, shattering his calm façade. "DEAD ON MY ORDERS!"

"You are quite right, Tom. I am but a shadow of my living self, and no matter how much I might wish to help, I cannot raise a wand against you. But there are those who can, those who will never stop fighting until you are finished. And one in particular, I think, who is more than capable of doing so."

Dumbledore glared knowingly at Voldemort, whose face fell. The Dark Lord scrutinized his old enemy as if he was trying to decipher the secrets behind those piercing blue eyes. "Check the entrances," he ordered. "Search the castle for intruders – do it now!" Several Death Eaters sped to the double doors at the back of the room as Voldemort again locked eyes with Dumbledore, who gave the slightest smile from his portrait.

_BOOM_!

With an ear-splitting crash, the doors were blown from their hinges and cartwheeled along the ground, crushing the Death Eaters who had approached them. Voldemort readied his wand, and the rest of his supporters did the same while scrambling into defensive positions to prepare for whatever was about to storm their way. Seconds passed and the room fell eerily quiet. Ginny breathlessly watched the gaping entranceway and felt Hermione's hand squeeze hers tightly.

And then . . .

Fred Weasley strolled into the Great Hall, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his shimmering dragon-skin jacket. He was there, but not there; his semisolid form was more than ghost yet not quite real, and his slow steps were inaudible, even in the total silence of the hall. There was a wry smile on his face, but the icy stare he leveled at Voldemort held no hint of humor.

"Hate what you've done with the place," he said dryly, looking from the wreckage in the center of the room to the Slytherin banners hung high overhead.

Ginny did not register Voldemort's reaction, as her wide, disbelieving eyes did not stray from her late brother. Had her brain been addled by the mental attacks she had suffered? Was she even still alive? Ginny refused to trust her senses as she watched Fred saunter through the Death Eater crowd, which parted as he approached, its members wary of this unusual apparition. Fred reached the center of the room where Ron sat slumped on the ground, then squatted beside him.

"You did great, little bro," said Fred in a comforting voice, his eyes softening as he smiled ruefully. "You've done your bit; we'll take it from here." Ron simply gaped at him, his battered, bloody face expressionless.

And then Ginny noticed the others who had entered just behind Fred, who she had missed while consumed by the appearance of her brother. There was a growing murmur among the students overhead, and Ginny could certainly understand why.

There stood the semitransparent form of Remus Lupin, the known werewolf and former Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who had taught many of them.

At his side was Nymphadora Tonks, the accomplished Auror who many students had come across when she was once stationed at Hogsmeade.

Next was the notorious Sirius Black, still known to many as the dark wizard who had escaped Azkaban and terrorized the school.

And close to him were Voldemort's most famous victims, though few in the room would know them on sight. But Ginny instantly recognized the messy mop of black hair atop James Potter, and the emerald green eyes of his wife, Lily.

Finally, Ginny found the only figure among the group who was entirely solid, still blessedly whole. Black robed, wand held at his side, with hands clenched into shaking fists, the wizard's green eyes burned into Voldemort with a frightening ferocity.

Harry Potter, the Chosen One, had returned.

"Impossible . . ." breathed Voldemort, his face draining of the little color it had. Was it Ginny's imagination, or for the first time did she detect the faintest look of fear in the Dark Lord's eyes?

Fred stood up beside Ron, his hands still in his pockets, and re-engaged Voldemort with a stony glare. "You've had your fun, but it's time you cleared out of here," he said. "Maybe no one told you . . . but the _Marauders_ run Hogwarts."

* * *

Next:

Neither can live while the other survives.

Coming soon, the final chapter of _The World I Leave Behind_, "Chosen."


	16. Chapter Fifteen: Chosen

Harry was falling through impenetrable darkness, plummeting past flashing images of the most horrific scenes of his life. Somewhere up above in the real world, a Dementor clamped its jaw over Harry's mouth and worked feverishly to suck out his soul. Many more of the slithering, shadowy figures filled Platform nine and three-quarters and sapped Harry's strength with a crushing hopelessness that was impossible to overcome.

Harry had fought for as long as he could; long enough to see the destruction of the bit of Voldemort's soul that he had carried for nearly all his life. His blocked magical powers had returned upon its removal, but Harry was still without the strength to save himself. As he tumbled further and faster down the dark pit inside his mind, his ears filled with the cries of those he could not save or help, and he was forced to watch more terrible memories as he felt himself slip away alongside his soul . . .

. . . Countless Dementors descended upon Sirius by the lake . . .

. . . A gigantic Basilisk pursued Harry while Tom Riddle's mocking voice echoed throughout the Chamber of Secrets . . .

. . . Lord Voldemort's grotesque face emerged from the back of Professor Quirrell's head . . .

With the last faint spark of awareness that Harry had left, he could sense that he was near it now, the bottom of the deep, dark well. The Dementors' relentless assault had turned almost all of Harry's torturous memories against him in an attempt to weaken his grip on the prize they hungered for so desperately. Only a single scene of suffering remained, after which Harry would be left an empty, soulless shell.

He was locked inside the cupboard under the stairs, crying as he lay in bed. It was not clear why he wept; the scene could have come from many of the nights Harry had spent in his Aunt and Uncle's house as a child. Harry could feel the emotions now just as powerfully as he had done then: the hurt, the frustration, and worst of all, the crushing feeling that he was absolutely alone . . .

The scene dimmed as Harry floated in the nothingness and began to fade away . . .

"H-Harry . . . ?"

The Harry upon the bed froze at the sound of his name, and the scene flickered back to full volume. Suddenly frightened, he spun to face the door and skittered as far back into the tiny space as he could. Visits from the Dursleys were sometimes dangerous, and Harry did not like to be cornered in such a small space. But as his eyes adjusted to the bright light that now flooded in from the open door, Harry saw that it was not Vernon, Petunia, or Dudley who had come to see him, but a girl – a _beautiful_ girl – with long, red hair that swung down to sweep the bed sheets as she stooped through the doorway. Slowly, she climbed atop the small bed, sat on her knees, and tentatively opened her arms in invitation. Harry studied her face for any sign of deception – any hint of a threat – but there was something about her soft, teary gaze that set him at ease. He did not know what to call the emotion that he saw there – no one had ever looked at him like that – but he liked it; _needed_ it, even. Harry climbed into the girl's lap and collapsed against her. She cradled him in her arms and whispered words of comfort into his ear.

She told him that he was safe, and that he wasn't alone anymore; that he had been missed and had a wonderful home and family to return to. And again and again, she said the words that Harry had longed to hear for all his life:

"_I love you_."

From the void, Harry gazed at the scene in awe. He had no memory of it having happened; it felt more like some long-forgotten dream. But as he watched the girl comfort the boy – as Harry felt her glowing presence ignite something inside of him – a single word floated back to him through the fog that had obscured everything he knew.

_Ginny_.

The instant the name came to him, the girl began to glow brighter and brighter until Harry no longer hung in darkness, but in a brilliant white light. He bathed in its radiance as if basking in the bright summer sun, and felt warmth spread throughout his body. He began to ascend – slowly at first, and then much faster. He soon flew upward at an incredible speed as new memories sped by, sparkling scenes that accompanied a growing self-awareness . . .

. . . He saw a little red-haired girl through his compartment window on the Hogwarts express, chasing after the train as he rode it out of the station for the very first time . . .

. . . The girl was putting her elbow in the butter dish at the Weasleys' kitchen table . . .

. . . She was flushing red with embarrassment as a dwarf sang Harry a Valentine's Day poem from an unknown admirer . . .

. . . She was giving Harry a glowing smile as he praised her spell work during a DA meeting . . .

. . . She was flying across the Quidditch pitch under a brilliant blue sky, laughing as her long hair flamed behind her . . .

. . . And then, Ginny was running across the Gryffindor common room, pushing through the crowd that stood between her and Harry with a hard, blazing look in her eyes . . .

Harry opened his eyes to see that the blinding white light had followed him into the real world, where it sent the hooded horror figures that surrounded him scurrying like cockroaches. But there were no shadows in which to seek shelter, and the Dementor that held Harry disintegrated, the remaining scraps of its tattered robes momentarily twirling through the air before flickering out like dying embers. The other Dementors quickly followed and were erased from the scene as if some unseen hand had simply wiped them away.

The all-encompassing light faded and Harry glimpsed a hundred bright, silver horses standing along the platform before they too were swept away as if blown by a breeze. Harry felt a jolt of electricity as his full suite of senses returned. Blood pounded through his veins and magic pulsed through his body; far from feeling drained by his horrible experience, Harry felt stronger and more alive than he ever had before.

Somehow, he had done it – had saved his soul while destroying the shard of Voldemort's.

Without the need of his wand, Harry easily Apparated to the Burrow and arrived just outside its magical barrier, which he immediately ran through on his way to the front door. He yelled Ginny's name as he crossed the threshold, then tore through the house and checked every room before he accepted that everyone was gone. He glanced at the clock in the sitting room and saw that it was nearly nine o'clock – almost an hour past their scheduled departure time for Hogwarts. He swore loudly, raced back through the front door and the protective charms, then Apparated to Hogwarts, covering the great distance in a single jump.

It took Harry a second to refocus his eyes upon his arrival, at which point he met the stunned stares of a large crowd of people – the resistance force that consisted of the Order of the Phoenix and its surviving supporters, stationed just outside the magical dome that walled off the castle grounds. Harry felt a small twinge of relief – the battle had not yet begun. He scanned the crowd, caught sight of Bill, and began to speak as he took a quick step forward.

"Bill, where are –"

If Harry had not already been so on edge, he would not have cast his Shield Charm in time. At least a dozen jets of light flew at him from the crowd, their reflections painting Harry's clear barrier like a rainbow as the bolts ricocheted in random directions.

"It's another imposter," boomed the deep voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt from somewhere behind the relentless barrage of color. "Don't let him come any closer!" Harry was forced a few feet backward as many more spells slammed against his barrier.

"Stop!" someone cried. "It's really him! It's really _Harry_!" A moment later the attacks halted, and Harry blinked the traces of light from his eyes to find that Mr. Weasley now stood directly in front of him, facing the crowd with his arms outstretched. "It . . . it _is_ you, isn't it?" he added, with a questioning look back at Harry.

"It's me," said Harry, trying to put his thoughts back on track after the sudden assault. "I just came from the Burrow."

"Where _were_ you?" said George, who hurried forward along with his brothers. "Where have you been?"

Bill cut in before Harry could respond. "You got your magic back," he said in a questioning tone.

"Yeah," Harry said curtly, tossing the subject aside. "Where is Ginny? Where are Ron and Hermione?"

"They left an hour ago; we haven't heard anything from them," said Mrs. Weasley, her face wrought with worry.

It was as Harry had feared – they had started the mission without him. Somewhere within the Hogwarts grounds, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione worked to uncover Lord Voldemort's plan in order to provide the larger invasion force with a target location. Meanwhile, the resistance fighters waited for the Dark Lord to reach the part of his plan that required the removal of the school's protective wards. Had Ginny and the others been caught? Had they been killed? The thought stabbed into Harry with a violent shock of panic. When Professor McGonagall hesitantly left the group to approach him, Harry – caught in a crashing wave of anxiety and emotionally charged magical energy – nearly attacked her on instinct.

"Potter?" she said. "But . . . how?"

Harry looked from her shocked face to the many others who stared unblinkingly at him. Some, like Kingsley, gazed at him in awe with a kind of renewed hope; others, like Cho, were in tears. Harry recognized the impact that his return had on them; understood the difference that it must make to follow the Chosen One into battle.

"Listen, Professor – everyone," said Harry, who gave special attention to the Weasleys. "I'm sorry – I know you must have a million questions – but I've got to go." Looking directly at Mrs. Weasley, he added, "Which way were they headed?" She pointed a finger and without another word, Harry bolted in the direction she had indicated.

Harry sped from the woods that concealed the others and did not slow down as he sensed the oncoming magical barrier. His uncorked magical powers seemed almost alive as they radiated from him and gave him a kind of a sixth sense. Harry had never felt his magic this keenly; had never felt this powerful, even when Dumbledore had first taught him to tap into his full reserve of magical energy. Something was different now, and even in his race to find Ginny and his friends, Harry could tell what it was: for the first time in memory, he was without the parasitic presence of Voldemort's soul fragment. Had it been holding him back his entire life?

As Harry effortlessly passed through the wards, he somehow knew that he did not need his Dark Mark to enter – that just as he had penetrated Bill's wards upon his initial return to the Burrow three weeks ago, nothing could have kept him out of Hogwarts when he knew that Ginny was inside. He could feel his heightened senses drawn to her, almost pulling him toward her. Harry's feet flew over the grounds as he followed this new inner compass toward the school. He huffed as he ran with reckless abandon, ignoring the increasing physical strain. The grounds were clear save for a few trolls that Harry spotted here and there, but he met no resistance along his direct path to the castle.

With a sharp swipe of his hand, the oaken double doors flew open and Harry entered. He skidded into a right turn and stopped just before the second set of doors, which led to the Great Hall. The pull toward Ginny was stronger than ever, and Harry knew that she was inside. He clutched his wand tightly in his sweaty palm and paused for a moment to catch his breath. The final result of his lifelong struggles waited in the very next room, but he had no time to appreciate the weight of what was about to happen. With a deep breath, he stepped forward and reached for the doors . . .

"_Potter_?"

Harry spun on the spot and aimed his wand around the room, but did not immediately see who had called his name. It wasn't until the voice spoke again that Harry spotted Phineas Nigellus, the Slytherin who had once been headmaster of Hogwarts, in a portrait hung near the doors to the Great Hall.

"What –? How –?" spluttered Phineas. "But . . . you're dead!"

"Not just yet," said Harry, turning his attention back to the doors before him. "But we'll see." With a couple of quick, deep breaths, Harry stepped toward the doors again.

"Wait!" cried Phineas. "You can't go in there; the room is filled with Death Eaters – _all_ of them! Not to mention _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_!"

So this was it, Harry thought – he had found his enemies. He steeled himself. "Do you know if Ginny and Ron Weasley are in there, or Hermione Granger? Have you seen them? Are . . . are they . . ."

"They are alive," said Phineas, interpreting the hesitation in Harry's question. "But I cannot say for how long they will stay that way. Terrible things are happening, and every student is in danger – I have a portrait in there, you see, and I saw everything. I don't entirely disagree with the Dark Lord's views on Muggles and Mudbloods, but to plot the murder of Hogwarts students . . . no one who has taught at this school could ever permit it. I was just on my way to find Dumbledore and the other headmasters; to see if they might know of anything that can be done to stop this . . ."

"There's nothing any of you can do," said Harry. "I'm the only one who can stop Voldemort now."

"Are you _mad_? There are at least a hundred Death Eaters in there!"

Harry fought against his desperate need to see Ginny and the others – to make certain they were all right – and forced himself to consider Phineas's point. At best, Harry's enhanced powers were a match for Voldemort and the Elder Wand – at least, Harry had temporarily bested the Dark Lord during their duel at the Grangers' house before taking Hermione, who had been terribly injured, to safety. But how could he hope to overcome both Voldemort _and_ his entire army? Harry stared longingly at the doors to the Great Hall, anxious to act but unsure of what to do.

"Don't be stupid, boy," said Phineas in exasperation. "You wouldn't stand a chance without an army of your own!"

And then, Phineas's talk of finding Dumbledore and of raising an army collided inside Harry's head to form an idea. It was a mad, desperate gamble, but it was all that he had to work with.

"Find Dumbledore," said Harry as he backed away from the doors. "Bring him here, quickly – tell him to stall Voldemort for as long as he can."

"Wait," called Phineas as Harry dashed in the opposite direction. "Where are you going?"

"To get help!"

**The World I Leave Behind  
**Chapter Fifteen: Chosen

Harry's eyes darted around the Great Hall as he stepped over the Death Eaters who had been struck down during his explosive entrance. The scores of remaining dark wizards watched him from behind their blank, expressionless masks, but their frozen positions told Harry that his arrival had achieved the desired effect.

His fist clenched tighter around the Resurrection Stone, which he had hastily retrieved from the Chamber of Secrets. It was warm in his hand as he walked alongside the semisolid figures of his greatest supporters, those who had been watching events unfold from the world beyond and were therefore ready to help the moment he called for them: Sirius, Fred, Remus, Tonks, and Harry's parents, James and Lily. Although their spectral forms could not physically interact with the living world, Harry was counting on the shock of their appearance to buy him some time; to give Voldemort pause while Harry found his friends and figured out what to do.

As nearby Death Eaters parted to allow the alarming group to spread slowly into the hall, Harry's senses were struck by the near-paralyzing pressure of the moment: his pulse pounded in his ears; his head was filled with a kind of high-pitched ringing; and his heavy breaths seemed deafening in the total silence of the room. As his leaden legs carried him forward with slow steps, he caught sight of the hundreds of students that hung overhead and knew that their lives all depended on his next move.

Harry vaguely realized that Fred was speaking, but the words could not penetrate the haze inside his head. Fred walked ahead to the center of the room and knelt next to a pile of rubble . . . only it _wasn't_ rubble – it was Ron. Harry's best mate was almost unrecognizable, a broken, bloody heap upon the ground who stared at his late brother with only a faint flicker of awareness. Harry's hollow stomach began to churn. Fred's mouth moved as he appeared to say something to Ron, but Harry heard only the ringing in his head, which grew louder.

Feeling numb, detached – as if none of this was real – Harry slowly turned his wide eyes to the front of the room and spotted Hermione lying on the raised platform. She appeared hurt, although her injuries did not seem to be nearly as severe as Ron's. She stared back at him with her mouth hung slightly open. Next to Hermione lay a figure that Harry did not recognize, with a face covered in crimson – it was clear this person had been badly beaten. But then Harry noticed the blood-streaked ginger hair that splayed across the platform and cascaded over its edge, and the terrible truth pierced him through.

Harry's dreamlike state shattered and the world suddenly seemed all too real. No words could describe the force that ripped through him as he gazed upon Ginny in absolute horror; it was as if his very worst fears had taken physical form. To complete this nightmarish scene, Voldemort stood over her, his shimmering emerald robes stained with splashes of Ginny's blood. Harry found the snakelike eyes and the ringing in his ears reached a crescendo. His body, which had moments ago felt so hollow, began to fill with fire as he held the Dark Lord's gaze, green eyes burning into red. Harry no longer questioned whether or not he could simply _kill_ Voldemort – he had to _maim_ him, _rip_ him; force him to beg for his life while Harry savaged him in unspeakable ways.

"There are too many bystanders," said a whisper directly in Harry's ear. "You've got to play this very carefully . . ."

Harry, his heart hammering with bloodlust, turned his head to find James at his side. As consumed as Harry was by his rage – by his need to unleash his full powers upon Voldemort and anyone who dared defend him – he had to repeat his father's words inside his head before he understood them. He looked back to Ginny, Hermione, Ron, and the students, many of whom seemed so small. With a blazing determination fueled by the need to defy Voldemort in every possible way, Harry silently swore that he would not allow anyone else to die at the Dark Lord's hands. Harry would get his chance at Voldemort, but only after he ensured that everyone was safe; when he was quite certain that Ginny would be all right. Harry still felt the incredible fear and panic beneath his anger, but he could not let those emotions bind him. He surveyed the full scene once again as everyone in the room remained frozen, still waiting for the Chosen One to make the first move.

"We have to act fast, Harry," whispered Remus, sidling up to mirror James on Harry's other side. "Once they realize we're not a threat – that you're on your own . . ."

Harry did not need to be told this; he understood that he could not wait for the perfect idea to suddenly strike him, that it was time to take action. He needed an escape route for the innocent and a distraction for the Death Eaters, and in a reckless spark of inspiration he imagined a way to supply both. But would even Harry's extraordinary magical ability be enough for what he envisioned? To utilize every iota of power that he possessed, Harry cast the spell with a furtive flick of his wand – which still provided more power than wandless magic – and focused intently on a muttered verbal incantation:

"_Accio_."

Harry instantly felt an immense pull between himself and the summoned object, and nearly toppled over. Every muscle in his legs strained as he focused his magical energy to anchor himself, to draw the impossibly heavy object to _him_ instead of being pulled to _it_. James and Remus, who had doubtlessly noticed that Harry was up to something, gave him quizzical looks, but Harry could not risk informing them of his intentions while so many enemy eyes studied their every action.

Now that Harry had set his plan in motion he had little time to take one absolutely essential measure. In as non-threatening a manner as possible, Harry walked to the center of the Great Hall – careful to weigh each step against the pull of his spell – to join Fred at Ron's side. Without a word, the rest of Harry's entourage spread outward to form a defensive perimeter. Harry knelt next to his friend and placed his hands upon his shoulders.

"Are . . . are we d-dead?" wheezed Ron as he looked between Fred and Harry with heavily lidded eyes.

"Not yet," said Harry, swallowing thickly as he took in Ron's terrible wounds up close. "Just hold still, all right?"

Harry's hands began to glow and then so did Ron as, with great effort and concentration, Harry wandlessly applied a healing charm while maintaining his summoning spell. Ron's eyes opened fully, and although some of his wounds remained raw and unrepaired, he seemed to come back to life.

"C'mon," said Harry as he helped Ron to his feet. Ron picked up his wand as he rose and then rested against Harry, who led him toward the back of the room as fast as they dared move.

"They're getting a bit restless," muttered Fred, who kept pace beside Ron. All around them, Death Eaters were beginning to stir as the shock of Harry's appearance subsided. Many of Harry's surrounding allies were forced to fall back a few steps to avoid contact with the throng as it began to grow less wary and more daring. By the time Harry and Ron reached the back of the room, the ghostly guard had collapsed into a tight circle around them. But Harry could feel the pull from his summoned object greater than ever and knew that he needed only a few moments more.

"Voldemort!" he shouted, and the room stilled once again at the sound of his voice. Up on the platform, still standing over Ginny, the Dark Lord's wide eyes narrowed as Harry continued. "There's something I want you to know before this goes any further."

Voldemort was so hung on Harry's words that he did not immediately notice the ground begin to tremble. Harry gritted his teeth against the near-overpowering pull and held Ron tightly to his side. Sweating from the exertion, Harry squeezed in a few final words with great relish in his voice.

"You know that _thing_ of yours I kept? I'm afraid I didn't take very good care of it. I fed it to a _Dementor_." It was a reckless taunt, but the stupefied look upon Voldemort's face was worth it.

"You're _mortal_, Riddle. And I'm going to kill you."

The right side of the Great Hall exploded as the Hogwarts Express crashed through the wall and rampaged across the front of the room, obscuring the raised platform. Its many cars twisted this way and that as the train plowed forward, looking as though a giant invisible hand had dragged it across the grounds from its platform at Hogsmeade Station. The students were high enough to be out of harm's way, but the locomotive flattened several Death Eaters as it rammed to an abrupt stop against the opposite wall, and more dark wizards were struck by large chunks of stone that rained down with a deafening rumble.

Harry had recoiled at the train's room-shaking arrival along with everyone else, but held fast to Ron and quickly recovered. With a wide swipe of his wand he sent the hundreds of levitating students soaring through the massive hole that the train had made to the grounds beyond, their escape obscured by a massive cloud of dust.

"Harry, go!" shouted James. "Go _now_!"

Harry saw what his father did: scattered Death Eaters in every direction getting to their feet and turning their wands toward him. Harry had not reduced their numbers by much, and now that he had struck first, they at last appeared ready to fight.

"Can you move?" Harry asked Ron.

"Don't worry about me, I'm right behind you!"

Harry ignored the exits and ran toward the front of the room, desperate to reach the raised platform behind the Hogwarts Express. He deflected several curses and checked over his shoulder to see Ron laboring to keep up. James, Lily, and Sirius flanked them on one side while Fred, Remus, and Tonks took the other, all of them working to clear a path by startling Death Eaters back. But as more of Voldemort's forces joined the assault, Harry could tell that he and Ron would not make it all the way across the crowded room. Gambling on his gut instincts once again, Harry summoned the scarlet steam engine to him a second time. The portion of the train that had entered the room broke apart from the rest that lay unseen outside the castle and rolled along the stone floor toward him, becoming an inescapable, rapidly moving wall of crunching, grinding metal.

"Keep running, Ron!" shouted Harry.

The Death Eaters in front of Harry fled toward him, but some weren't fast enough and were swallowed by the crashing wave of oncoming metal as it swept across the room. Harry rushed forward to meet the wave head-on, causing his mother to cry out in alarm.

"_Sectumsempra_!" shouted Harry, and with a great vertical slash of his wand, the car directly ahead of him was split down the middle. With no hesitation, Harry charged through a gap that appeared as the train broke into two halves. Ron's shouts of surprise told Harry that his friend continued to keep up, while their semisolid protectors gathered directly behind them, blocking them from view. The way ahead was now clear, and as the ruined wrecks that were once the Hogwarts Express slammed to a stop far behind them, Harry and Ron reached the raised platform at the front of the room.

Harry had braced himself to engage Voldemort in battle, but the Dark Lord was gone, along with those Death Eaters who had sat behind him at the staff table. Only Ginny and Hermione remained, and Harry hastened to them without a second thought. He dropped to his knees beside Ginny and all of his anger was instantly swallowed by fear. He felt weak and helpless as he surveyed her wounds up close, and hated himself for failing to protect her. Ginny, however, looked up at Harry with wild excitement in her eyes and frantically reached for him. Harry leaned over her, his knees soaking in the blood that had pooled on the platform. He hesitated as he worried over how to touch her without causing her pain, but Ginny clutched his robes and pulled herself up into his arms. As she gave a sob of relief against his shoulder, Harry sat with his arms locked tightly around her and silently cast the same wandless healing charm he had used on Ron. As he did so, Harry heard Death Eaters shouting to one another from across the room as they regrouped.

"Hurry, Harry," warned Sirius.

Harry heard Hermione pant in pain and saw Ron helping her up. She wore an agonized expression and clutched her side, but healing her would have to wait.

As Harry reluctantly pulled away, Ginny's eyes fell upon Fred, who stood behind Harry and watched his sister with concern.

"Are you all right, Gin?" he asked.

Ginny gazed at her brother with a mixed look of shock, wonder, and disbelief. She appeared unable to answer him, so Harry spoke instead.

"Can you stand?"

"Y-Yeah, I think," said Ginny, slowly pulling her eyes from Fred. "What did you do to me?"

"Never mind that right now; come on." Harry quickly but gently lifted Ginny to her feet, where she wobbled but was able to remain standing.

"Over here!" called Tonks, who had moved to stand next to the open door beside the staff table. "Voldemort and the others must've got out this way."

With a slight shock, Harry noticed Lucius Malfoy lying in the path leading to Tonks, writhing upon the platform. His mouth was stretched wide into an apparent scream but he made no noise. His legs, which appeared to have been pulverized beyond repair, flopped around grotesquely.

Across the room there was a loud crash as several rail cars were blasted aside, leaving a much wider gap in the wreckage that Death Eaters began to pour through.

"Take them and go!" yelled Harry, and Ron shouldered Hermione's weight as he hobbled toward the door. Ginny followed closely behind, but kept her eyes on Harry as he threw up a large shield charm that was needled by a rapid assortment of spells.

"Wand!" yelled Hermione as she reached the door. "Harry, there's a wand at your feet, just below the platform – I need it!"

Harry glanced from the flashing sparks of light before him to the floor and spotted it. As he backed toward the door, still covering their exit with his shield, he summoned the wand into his free hand and pocketed it. As he neared the exit he grabbed one of Lucius's arms while it swung wildly around and dragged him through the door a second before Ginny slammed it shut. Harry tossed Hermione the wand she had wanted and, while still hanging onto Ron, she began to cast several quick spells on the door.

"I don't think these will do much good," she said frantically.

"Harry," barked Sirius. "Transfigure the door – make it a part of the wall!"

Harry looked at the door and gave a stunned pause. "I-I can't. It's too big –"

"Don't give me that," said Sirius, "you just dragged a bloody train across the grounds! You don't need to know the proper incantation when you've got as much raw power as you do. Try a simple spell – like you would use to transfigure something small – but put everything you've got into it!"

Harry pointed his wand at the door, concentrated with all his might, and in mere moments the stone wall was blank as though a door had never been there. The distant, muffled cries of the Death Eaters were barely audible, the small chamber filled only with the rapid breaths of its living occupants. There was a slight pause as everything that had just occurred caught up to them.

"Harry, you are _mental_?" said Fred in a voice that was part scolding and part impressed, but mostly relieved.

"How are you _here_?" said Ron, gazing in awe from his late brother to his equally dead companions. "Harry, did you get –"

Harry answered the unfinished question by unclenching his fist to reveal the small cracked gem held inside. "The Resurrection Stone," he said. "Yeah." Forcing himself to ignore Ginny for the moment, Harry stepped urgently to the man who shook upon the floor.

"What happened to Lucius?"

"He's as good as dead, Harry," answered Ron. "Leave him. He didn't do us any favors in there, believe me."

"It . . . it looks like he's trying to speak," said Tonks, who had knelt to examine Lucius.

"Voldemort put a Silencing Charm on him," said Ginny.

Harry lowered himself to the dying man, who swung a hand at Harry to clutch his robes. With a swish of his wand, Harry cancelled the spell and the sounds of Malfoy's suffering filled the room. With what looked like incredible effort, Lucius lowered his wailing, pulled Harry close, and stared wildly into his eyes.

"A-Amycusss," he gurgled in a voice like a death rattle. "H-He can b-bring . . . barrier d-down . . ."

Lucius released Harry's robes and thrashed back to the ground, where he released a pent-up yell of torture. Harry could hear the muffled crunching of bone beneath the man's slackening skin.

"_Finite_," shouted Harry, pointing his wand at Lucius. But the curse that consumed Malfoy continued unabated. "_Finite Incantatem_!" Harry shouted more desperately, but the screams continued and grew ever louder.

"_Avada Kedavra_," came a calm voice. There was a flash of green, and Lucius was still and silent at last.

Everyone turned to look at Ginny, who was holding Hermione's new wand aloft. She stared at the body as if shocked by her own actions, but her voice was steady. "He was a horrible man who had done horrible things . . . but that isn't why I did it."

Harry understood. It was the same reason he had tried to help the man, despite his hatred of him: no one should have to suffer like that. Well, Harry thought, perhaps _one_ man. He was once again enflamed with a need to cause Voldemort great pain.

Coldly but pragmatically, Harry left Lucius's body to tend to Hermione's wound.

"I-Isn't your magic still more effective if you use your wand?" she said.

"I don't know a proper healing spell for serious injuries, just this trick that Dumbledore taught me. I'm sorry; I wish I could do more."

"This will do," said Hermione, who began to breathe much easier as the worst of her injury was repaired.

At last, Harry rushed to Ginny, took her head in his hands and examined her carefully. "Are you all right?"

"My face still hurts a lot . . . I think my nose must be broken."

Harry aimed his wand at her face, but as he gazed upon the mask of dried blood and dark, blooming bruises, his hand shook and his mind went blank.

"I-I can't think of the incantation," he said.

"It's _Episkey_," offered Lily, who stood beside Harry and mirrored his concerned expression.

"Right – thanks." Harry cast the spell and Ginny's bruises immediately disappeared. She touched her nose and appeared to feel no pain.

"Is it true?" she said. "Did you really destroy the part of Voldemort's soul?"

"Yeah."

"So you . . . you don't have to die?"

Harry shook his head and gave her a small, hopeful smile. "I don't plan on it."

Ginny's eyes lit with the same blazing determination that Harry felt, and he knew that she understood exactly what they were fighting for: the chance to live a life they had thought was lost to them. She flung her arms around him and Harry took a brief moment to prove to himself that she was real, that she still lived – to feel her heart beat against his chest – before moving on.

Everyone jumped when the other side of the wall was struck; dust fell from the ceiling but the heavy stones stayed in place.

"We've got to go," warned Hermione, and the group hurried from the chamber, through another door that led to a long passageway. Harry was on alert for any sign of Voldemort as he ran, but they reached the end of the hallway unimpeded and exited the castle.

"C'mon," Harry called, not sure of where he was leading the group as he took Ginny's hand and ran along the outside wall of the castle. They rounded a corner and Harry spotted some students scattered in the distance near the front entrance. A few fled toward the forest, presumably in pursuit of many more students who had already sought refuge there, while others were trading spells with a contingent of Death Eaters that was starting to pour out onto the grounds. Several trolls lumbered from their posts around Hogwarts toward the sounds of chaos, and in the midst of the growing din, Harry fleetingly glimpsed Voldemort and a small contingent of his supporters duck around the West Tower.

"There!" yelled Remus, who had also spotted their target. It surprised Harry to see the Dark Lord turn away from battle; for all of Voldemort's many faults, Harry had not thought him a coward. Harry charged forward with reckless purpose, shooting past a growing number of dueling witches and wizards before they could spot or stop him. Harry's legs began to ache and he heard strained sounds from the others behind him as they struggled to keep up. James, Lily, and the rest of those summoned by the Resurrection Stone positioned themselves in a circle around the living members of their group in a continuing attempt to ward off potential attackers.

In the distance, Harry saw Voldemort gesture toward members of his guard, sending some of them away to fulfill orders that Harry could not hear. Then, alongside two remaining Death Eaters, the Dark Lord hurried inside the Astronomy Tower and appeared unaware that he was being pursued. Harry and the others reached the tower entrance several seconds later, and paused for a moment to catch their breath.

"This is it," said Harry, with a significant look at Ginny, Ron, and Hermione. His protective instincts kicked in, bringing the usual worry and doubt that accompanied the idea of putting Ginny and the others in harm's way. But with the pivotal moment at hand, there was no time to second-guess. He had accepted the fact that they would fight alongside him, and he had no choice but to trust them to survive. "Take down the other Death Eaters, but leave Voldemort to me." Harry drew a deep breath. "Ready?"

"Yeah," said Ron, who raised his wand to a battle-ready position.

Hermione fixed her face with a look of resolve and nodded. "Yes."

"Ready," confirmed Ginny, her jaw set and eyes blazing.

"Hold on," said Fred. "Ginny – where's your wand?"

Harry's eyes dropped to Ginny's hands and found two clenched, empty, fists.

Ginny looked back at him, blank-faced, as though she had not realized this problem during the heat of the moment. But in one short breath, she blinked away her surprise and – appearing to anticipate Harry's next words – immediately dug in her heels.

"I'll . . . I'll pick one up somewhere along the way. I can still help."

"Damn it," Harry groaned. He knew that he would not be able to sway her from coming with them, and in any case, he did not have time to try. "Take mine, then," he said, holding out his own wand without a second thought.

"Harry, no," said Hermione. "You need your wand against Voldemort. Your spells are still more powerful when you use it, and you'll need every bit of power you can –"

"All right," said Harry, irritably. He stuffed a hand inside his robes and pulled out the Invisibility Cloak. "Here – take this, at least."

Ginny quickly put the cloak on, seeming grateful to avoid an argument, but left the hood down so that she remained visible for the moment. Harry readied his wand, and with a last look at the cherished face of the one he fought for the most, he hurried inside the tower.

Harry charged up the steps of the spiraling staircase with the others close behind him. From high above he could hear the echoing footsteps and muffled shouts of those he pursued, and as he raced to catch up to them, his legs quickly began to feel like lead. Harry was so intent upon closing the distance between himself and his targets that he was nearly blindsided by a Death Eater ambush as he ascended through a wide, empty platform that surrounded the stairway midway up the tower.

"Look out!" yelled Tonks, and Harry felt two hands shove him down to the dusty floor a split-second before crisscrossing jets of light filled the air above him. Glancing back to see Ron and Hermione diving in the opposite direction, Harry knew that Ginny, now invisible, had been the one to save him. He cast a dome-shaped Shield Charm large enough to protect his entire party, and caught glimpses of Death Eater robes fluttering between wide support beams that were spaced all around them. In the momentary silence, Harry heard the door at the top of the staircase slam open.

"Voldemort's getting away," he growled, more frustrated than fearful of his current situation.

"Get after him," said Ron, who – like Hermione – had knelt to take aim at the concealed Death Eaters from inside Harry's protective bubble. "We can handle this!"

Harry's instinct to protect those he loved threatened to take over once again, but he knew that they would not truly be safe – that the battle could not end – until he found, fought, and finished Voldemort. The Dark Lord had entered the tower with just two Death Eaters in tow, and with Ginny giving Ron and Hermione the advantage of surprise, he trusted them to win this fight without him.

"All right, then – on three . . ." Harry counted down and then he and his accompanying apparitions resumed their race up the stairs while Ron, Hermione, and presumably Ginny dashed off in different directions to duel the Death Eaters. It worried Harry that he still could not see Ginny as he glanced back, although he knew that the cloak was keeping her safe. Harry heard the sounds of their scuffles as he neared the top of the tower, and in the next heartbeat, he burst through the door and onto the wide, circular stone roof.

In the fraction of a second before Voldemort spun around to face the door, Harry found the Dark Lord looking over the low wall that encircled the roof, watching his Death Eaters skirmish with students on the grounds below. Had that been his reason for climbing to the top of the tower, to command his forces from a position where he could oversee the chaos? Harry still found it hard to believe that Voldemort would have simply fled in fear. And yet, when their eyes met, Harry could clearly see that his enemy was unnerved. Had Harry's sudden appearance shaken Voldemort that much, or was something else troubling him, something Harry was missing?

For a single, pounding heartbeat, the mortal enemies glared across the rooftop at one another under the endless expanse of a grim, grey sky. Harry's otherworldly guard quickly spread out around him, their ghostly gazes trained on the wizard that Harry must kill. The Dark Lord narrowed his red eyes, worked some of his usual cruel confidence back onto his snakelike face, and began to speak.

"Pott –"

But before he could say any more, Harry sprang forward. There was no more need for words; the moment had come at last for Harry to complete a journey that began when he received the lightning-shaped scar. He no longer felt fear or rage as he raced toward the monster that had taken so much from him; instead, his pulse pounded with a single-minded purpose: to end the long nightmare so that he and everyone he held dear could finally begin to dream.

Harry wandlessly threw two Stunning Spells while he reared back his arm, then he swung his wand forward to deliver a Blasting Curse so powerful that the tower shook as the spell erupted. Voldemort was put back on his heels by Harry's abrupt assault but managed to deflect the barrage of spells, although the largest of them slammed into his Shield Charm with such force that he was thrown back against the parapet.

"Keep it up, son!" yelled James, who, like his otherworldly companions, ran alongside Harry. "Don't give him a chance to fight back!"

From Harry's other side, Sirius's gruff voice barked out further instructions.

"Get in close where he won't be able to defend himself!"

Harry took their advice and continued to close the gap between he and his target while keeping the Elder Wand busy with a torrent of small spells. When he reached the boundary of Voldemort's hastily cast protective barriers, Harry again reared his wand back, this time to cock a killing blow that his enemy would not have the time or space to avoid.

"NO!" cried Voldemort, and a split-second before Harry's wand would have swung toward him, the Dark Lord reacted with a panicked explosion of raw magic that blasted Harry back the way he had come. Harry heard his mother scream in alarm as he spun through the air and slammed shoulder-first into the rooftop's stone surface, landing at least a dozen feet away. The impact jarred the Resurrection Stone from Harry's hand and sent it flying in an unknown direction, and Lily's scream was abruptly silenced as Harry's semisolid supporters vanished.

Ignoring the loss of his allies and the sharp pain in his shoulder, Harry glimpsed a jet of green light and rolled to the side, missing death by inches. Voldemort, it seemed, had taken Harry's word that he was no longer of any use as a Horcrux. Once Harry sat upright, he cast a Shield Charm that was immediately pelted by several more curses. He scrambled backward across the floor as Voldemort marched forward, now fully on the offensive. The Dark Lord strode with a growing confidence and attacked with a variety of spells that set off small explosions wherever they hit Harry's shields or struck the area around him.

With his eyes focused intently on the movements of the Elder Wand, Harry leapt to his feet while continuing to counter the Dark Lord's rapid-fire attacks. Harry stood his ground and poured more power into his magic, and the two wizards began to volley spells back and forth as they both attacked and defended. Neither showed any sign of letting up, and as their stalemate continued, the surrounding area began to react to the unprecedented amount of magic in the air – the tower trembled, a strong wind swept up to swirl around them, and the colors of their curses stained the air with lasting traces of light.

But while Voldemort's attacks were devastating by usual standards, blocking them failed to stun or stagger Harry as strongly as they had during the wizards' previous duel, and it became increasingly apparent that the Dark Lord seemed a shade less powerful. What was different? Was something _wrong_ with him?

As the mystery moved to the front of Harry's thoughts, he failed to notice that a seemingly wide miss from Voldemort had indeed hit its target. Far behind Harry, a gigantic snake made of flames sprang from the spot the spell had struck, and reared back its flaming fangs twenty or so feet above. Harry broke off his exchange with Voldemort and bolted away from the serpent as it began to strike, its gaping maw rocketing toward Harry like a fiery missile as he fled toward the outer edge of the tower. While completely distracted by Voldemort's monster, Harry was clipped by a Stunning Spell and lost his balance. As he fell, he turned toward the great snake and desperately threw a Shield Charm over himself before landing on his backside and sliding to a stop against the parapet. The snake was immediately upon Harry, who was swallowed whole and then surrounded by unbearable heat. The beast continued to surge forth and sank into Harry's shield, where its serpentine form splashed into a shapeless mass of flames.

Harry felt as though his skin was boiling, and for a moment, feared that he might melt into nothingness. But once the monster's charge was finished, its scattered flaming remains were quickly blown out by the wind, which surged even harder as it soaked in more of the surrounding magic.

Harry was left lying across the low wall, looking down to the grounds as his mind begged his blistered and battered body to move. Just then, he heard a blast come from somewhere beneath him and saw a figure fly from a window midway up the tower – Amycus Carrow tumbled lifelessly to the ground, where his impact scattered several Death Eaters and students who were fighting there. A head of red hair poked out of the window to observe the scene below.

"Ron!" shouted Harry.

Ron glanced upward and was startled by the unexpected sight of Harry peering over the parapet, but he quickly recovered and shouted up a message:

"The wards are down!"

Before Harry could consider the full significance of what this meant, he felt his arm lift into the air behind him as, for the second time in his life, his wand sought a target on its own. He turned to watch a wide blast of golden flames engulf Voldemort, who had closed to within just a few feet while he, Harry, had been distracted. The Dark Lord was caught completely off guard and absorbed the full, unshielded blast at point-blank range. He screamed in pain and staggered backward in a daze, blindly batting away the flames that lingered upon his robes, completely vulnerable to attack for the first time. Harry made to seize his chance but his mind sped ahead of his body, which was still in shock and moved as if it were underwater. As both combatants fought to push past their injuries, Voldemort stumbled across the top of the tower and Harry slowly, laboriously pursued him.

The Dark Lord hurled hexes in random directions while his slit eyes fluttered within his charred face, but Harry deflected the spells and picked up speed. As he began to gain on Voldemort – whose retreat had nearly taken him to the far edge of the tower – Harry again noted the dulled potency of his enemy's attacks, which he effortlessly cast aside. Even the fire serpent, which Harry had faced before, had previously been larger and its heat even more intense. Harry was certain that, after enduring a year of Voldemort's torture within the Chamber of Secrets, he knew exactly what his enemy was capable of with the Elder Wand.

And then realization struck: when Harry had overpowered Voldemort during their last duel – had resisted the Dark Lord's attempt at Legilimency and invaded _his_ mind instead – the counterattack had been so devastating that Voldemort was left lying unconscious in the street. Did the Elder Wand – which had always passed from wizard to wizard through combat, giving its allegiance to the victor – know that its master had been utterly defeated in battle? Did it recognize a _different_ master now? Had Voldemort known this, and was that why he had initially fled from a fight with Harry?

Emboldened by the thought that Voldemort might be without the full use of his greatest weapon, Harry urged his body forward and began to return fire. His first two attacks were blocked, but a third slipped past the Dark Lord's weakened defenses and struck his side. The Stunning Spell would have dropped a normal wizard, but Voldemort merely grunted and placed a hand upon the low outer wall for support.

Harry was halfway to him now, but Voldemort – desperate, with his back literally against the wall – seemed to decide he'd had enough. With a cry of fury and frustration, he scattered spells across the rooftop that rocked the tower with explosions and sent columns of shattered stone high into the air. Harry flinched as debris showered down around him, but continued to gain speed as he raced forward, determined to take advantage of his foe's weakened state. But then his steps began to slow, and before he could question why, he realized that the stones beneath his feet were falling away as the entire roof started to crumble and cave in.

Harry began to panic, but when he caught sight of Voldemort watching his plight with cruel satisfaction, his limitless hatred for the man sharpened his focus. Still running as fast as he could, Harry wandlessly cast several simultaneous Hover Charms on the path ahead, and then took long strides across floating chunks of stone that remained in place while the rest of the roof fell. Voldemort's eyes grew wide as Harry pushed his aching legs into a final leap that once again brought him within the Dark Lord's defenses.

"_AVADA KEDAVRA_!" yelled Harry, who used both the incantation and a slash of his wand to ensure that the curse would be as deadly as he could make it. His wand came to a stop mere inches from Voldemort's chest, and then his arm kicked back as the spell exploded with the force of cannon fire. But the blinding blast of green passed harmlessly through the Dark Lord, who had become intangible, no more than smoke on the wind. Harry, unable to halt his arc through the air, followed his spell directly through Voldemort's shifting, shapeless robes. He twisted in midair as he soared over the side of the tower and managed to stretch out an arm to place his fingers on the parapet, but just as he secured his grip, the wall broke away along with every other remaining part of the tower top, and Harry plummeted among the mass of rubble down the side of the school's tallest tower.

Visions of Dumbledore's death flashed before Harry's eyes, and he frantically reached for the side of the tower, desperately searching for a handhold as he spun end over end. He could no longer tell up from down, and bashed against the tower without realizing where it was. All seemed lost, but then a single thought rose above his terror – the wards were down; he could Apparate! Without wasting another second, Harry vanished. Just as he Disapparated, however, he struck a massive chunk of stone that fell alongside him. His concentration broken, Harry appeared at an unknown spot in a random direction and fell another thirty or so feet before crunching into the ground.

Harry was paralyzed and could not draw a breath, as the impact had punched all the air out of his lungs. His entire body was in agony, but it was a vague, shapeless pain, as he could not feel his limbs. As he lay upon the grass trying to suck in air, dying like a fish out of water, Harry heard a peal of maniacal high-pitched laughter.

"Look what lovely present just fell into my lap!" said the gleeful voice of Bellatrix Lestrange.

Through the fog of pain, Harry rediscovered his first body part as he felt his heart pump wildly. The side of his face lay pressed against the ground, and he could not see the evil witch until she knelt beside him and lowered her head to catch his eye.

"I don't know how it is that you're still alive, Potty, but I'm rather glad to see you. I was always a bit put out, you see, that I didn't get to finish you myself." She pinched his cheek with black-taloned fingers and stood up out of sight.

Harry fought to muster his magic or to simply move a finger, but could manage neither as he continued to gape for air.

"Just between you and me," said Bellatrix, "you'll have put up a much better fight when I tell this story. _Avada_ –"

"_Stupefy_!"

Harry caught a red flash out of the corner of his eye and heard Bellatrix shriek in surprise. His savior must have missed his mark, however, because the sounds of battle continued. A moment later, Harry sucked in his first blessed breath. More feeling returned to his body as the air filled his lungs, and he now knew which parts had been hurt the worst. He planted his palm upon the ground and tried to push himself up, but could manage only to roll onto his side as he registered the terrible extent of his injuries. It felt as though he was broken in a dozen places, and he realized with horror that several lengths of flesh had been stripped away down his right side – he had splinched himself terribly.

Harry heard a horrible scream and raised his head enough to see that Neville now lay upon the ground close by, twisting in agony. Bellatrix stood twenty feet away with her wand outstretched, watching her Cruciatus Curse in action with a wide-eyed look of perverted joy upon her face.

Desperate to save his friend, Harry summoned every bit of his remaining strength in an attempt to heal his wounds. He felt his pains begin to lessen, but his recovery was taking too long and he knew that he would never reach Neville in time.

Neville's cries came faster and louder, and Bellatrix danced closer to him, delighting in every wretched sound that tore from his throat.

"Like that, Longbottom?" she shouted. "Your dear old mum and dad _loved_ it!"

Neville's eyes flew open to stare at Bellatrix as he endured endless agony, and she met his gaze with an expression of pure ecstasy. Harry, too, could not look away from Neville's eyes; he saw less of his friend in them with every passing second. It was the worst death imaginable, and Harry was utterly powerless to prevent it.

But then Harry saw the impossible happen as, through unfathomable willpower, Neville slowly, torturously forced his flailing body to its feet. His screams became even wilder as he rose, until his throat was at last ruined and produced only raspy gurgling noises.

His healing spell forgotten, Harry stared in awed horror at the unbelievable scene before him, of Neville now standing and shaking as though he were being burned at the stake, his unrecognizable eyes gazing out of the flames and boring into Bellatrix. The witch burst into hysterical laughter, as though her brain could not decide upon a proper reaction to such an impossible sight. With his gaping mouth now screaming in silence, Neville raised a shuddering arm to point his wand. With what had to be the last of his voice, he spluttered a slurred incantation that barely sounded as though it was spoken by a human being.

His spell cast, Neville immediately collapsed, and Bellatrix gave a high-pitched howl of suffering and fell with him. Now _she_ writhed in unendurable agony while Neville lay still and silent. Harry feared the worst for his friend, but then saw that his eyes were still open, alert, and trained on his torturer. Harry resumed his healing spell while his would-be killer thrashed about, her violent sobs and shrieks of pain subsiding as time wore on.

By the time Harry could stand again, Bellatrix had been reduced to a quiet, quivering heap upon the grass. There was nothing left behind her wide, glassy eyes as lingering electric impulses twitched her limbs. Neville had watched while she burned completely away, going past the point, even, where her Cruciatus Curse had driven his parents insane. Harry limped over to Neville and dropped to his knees beside him.

"Neville," he choked as he gently shook his friend's crumpled body. "_Neville_!" The boy's vacant, heavily lidded eyes looked up at Harry but showed no sign of recognition.

Just then, two more hands joined Harry's on Neville's body, and Harry looked up in surprise to find Luna lowering herself to the ground across from him. She gazed at Harry with wide, protuberant eyes through a long curtain of matted dirty-blonde hair, wordlessly scrutinizing the boy who was supposed to be dead. After a moment she appeared to accept Harry's presence and turned her full attention to Neville. With one hand shaking his shoulder, she lowered her lips to his ear and spoke softly.

"Neville? You have to get up now – we can't stay here."

At her words, Neville drew a sudden breath and his body shifted slightly. Then, with sharp pants of pain, he rolled onto his back and looked up into Luna's face, which still hovered above his.

"Lu . . . na?" he said, his raw voice barely a whisper. The light behind his eyes flickered back on. "Y-You . . . you _spoke_ . . ."

Luna simply smiled down at him, and Harry felt tears trickle from his eyes in relief.

"Hold still, Neville," said Harry. "This will help." He again drew upon the healing power of his enhanced magic and poured it into Neville, who held Luna's gaze while much of the damage that had been done to him was reversed.

While Harry worked, he looked around to regain his bearings and ensure that they were in no immediate danger. His botched Apparition had taken him to the nearly deserted courtyard behind the owlery; the area's only other inhabitants were a small group of young students who watched Harry fearfully from the owlery's entrance, and he imagined that Bellatrix had chased them there. In the distance, Harry could see other students fighting Death Eaters in the area outside the Entrance Hall, next to the Astronomy Tower. The base of the tower was surrounded by rubble, and Harry could see no sign of Voldemort at its ruined top. With a jolt of fear, Harry thought of Ginny, Ron, and Hermione, whom he had last seen inside the tower before the roof caved in.

Luna helped Neville to a sitting position as Harry, who had done all that he could for the boy, pulled back.

"I saw you running after her," said Luna with an apologetic look to Neville, "but I had to find a way around the fighting before I could follow you."

"I-It's all right – I'm . . . I'm okay," said Neville, whose condition was stable at best, despite Harry's efforts. Then, as if he only just remembered the person he had saved, Neville turned his shocked expression to Harry. "Is . . . is it r-really you, Harry?"

"Yeah, it is," said Harry. "You saved my life, Neville."

"I always knew you were alive, Harry," said Luna.

Despite the terror that still sparked his nerves, Harry felt a rush of affection for Luna. There had been a mountain of evidence that he had died – including a masterfully faked corpse – so of course she would have believed otherwise.

"Listen, Luna – can you help Neville get to someplace safe, like the forest? I've got to go find the others."

Luna nodded, and with a quick pat on Neville's shoulder, Harry ignored his many lingering pains and ran back toward the Astronomy Tower, hoping with all his heart that his friends were not still inside, buried under broken stone. He heard Neville call after him with a faint cry of "Dumbledore's Army," and a moment later, Harry plunged himself into the chaos of combat.

The students who stayed behind had thus far managed to hold their ground, but they were beginning to be overrun by the Death Eater reinforcements who – having regrouped after Harry's initial attack – now poured out of the castle. Harry spotted a few fallen Gryffindors strewn along the battlefield, but was relieved to see them clutching their wounds, calling out to their fellows, or showing other signs of life. Things would have been much worse for a sixth-year Hufflepuff who did not cast a Shield Charm in time to deflect an incoming curse, but Harry stunned the boy's attacker as he ran past. Harry dropped more Death Eaters as he cut through the crowd, striking them down with such speed and force that they never saw him coming. Although the odds were stacked heavily against all of the students surviving, Harry did not yet know of any deaths and was determined to prevent any loss of life.

As Harry neared the Astronomy Tower, those ahead of him began to notice his approach. It was hard for him to deflect incoming attacks with students around to catch stray spells, so he had to slow his charge and fight with pinpoint precision. Fortunately, the Death Eaters also appeared to find the lack of space in which to fight limiting, because they refrained from casting the Killing Curse while surrounded by so many of their companions. Harry dispatched his enemies with relevant ease but each defeated Death Eater was instantly replaced by two more, and soon he was forced to come to a complete stop against the increasing onslaught. Their growing numbers were beginning to trump Harry's prodigious powers when several attacking Death Eaters were struck by spells that were not his own.

"_Harry_!" called Hermione, who sprang from the surrounding crowd alongside Ron. Both of them followed up their first spells with several more, and together, the three of them were more than a match for their foes. Harry's heart leapt at the sight of his friends, who appeared no worse than when he had left them, but one remaining fear continued to gnaw at his insides.

"Where's Ginny?" he yelled, in-between disarming one Death Eater and stunning another.

"We don't know," replied Ron, who spun away from a jet of red light to fight back-to-back with Hermione. "She was with us when we left the tower, but we were separated in the crowd – she was still under the Invisibility Cloak!"

The cold fist clutching Harry's heart lessened its grip a little. He would not rest until he found Ginny safe and sound, but at least she had escaped the crumbling tower, and she still had the cloak's protection.

It seemed that the full volume of Voldemort's forces had finally joined the fight, and in the mass of bodies that now pressed upon his position from every direction, Harry could see only countless Death Eater hoods. He had known that the smattering of students would never last, and now Harry faced what he had tried to avoid inside the Great Hall: a direct confrontation against an insurmountable force.

The explosive power of Harry's magic and the valiant efforts of Ron and Hermione kept the black-robed throng at bay, but the trio slowly lost ground, inch by inch, as they could not keep up with their enemies' numbers. They now fought from within a small circle that was surrounded on all sides by a seemingly endless sea of wizards intent on killing them.

"Gah!"

"_Ron_!"

Ron had been knocked off balance when several spells slammed into his Shield Charm at once, and Hermione immediately leapt to his defense. Harry closed the gap between them, and as Ron righted himself, the hooded mass squeezed in closer. Now Harry could barely swing his wand without it coming in contact with an enemy.

"Ron, Hermione – get out of here! Disapparate!" cried Harry, although he knew they could not. As their wands whipped through the air without pause, constantly blocking spells and countering curses, they were without even the split-second needed to escape. And even if one of them could have managed it, they never would have left the others behind.

But then, high above the cacophony of clashing spells came a thunderous roar followed by a familiar, booming voice:

"Oh no, yeh don't!"

Fire rained down upon the Death Eaters as a jet of flame cut through their ranks, and Harry's heart leapt as he looked to the sky and saw Hagrid's massive form atop a dragon, its great wings stretching the length of the crowd as it soared by overhead. Harry's oldest wizarding friend had returned just in time to lead the charge of the resistance fighters, who swarmed over a distant hill to join the battle at last.

"That'll teach 'em, Norberta," yelled Hagrid as he patted his mount's scaly hide. "Now circle 'round for another go!"

With the Death Eaters in disarray, Harry threw his full power into a Blasting Curse that sent bodies flying as it bore a path through the crowd.

"C'mon!" he called, and Ron and Hermione were at his heels as he charged through the opening and raced toward the outer edge of the enemy forces. Sparked by the well-timed arrival of their friends and family, the trio deftly wove their way through the Death Eaters who remained in their path, casting curses and covering each other with an instinctual feel for working together that had been honed through their many adventures.

But when Harry, Ron, and Hermione had at last cleared the crowd, they skidded to a stop at the sight of a huge, hulking troll that came thundering toward them, its massive boots shaking the ground as it ran. Harry had no time to cast a spell as he dove under the wide swing of a massive club, and as he hit the grass and rolled onto his back, he saw the troll pull the club into an overhead arc that would come smashing down upon him.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_!"

The troll's clenched fist swung down but left its contents hanging in midair. There was a moment's pause in which the creature stared confusedly into his empty palm, and then he turned his gaze skyward just as Ron swung his wand down and drove the hovering club into its owner's skull. Harry scrambled out of the way as the troll fell forward to crash face-first into the ground.

Harry stood, and – still slightly stunned – gave Ron a nod of thanks.

"Works every time," said Ron, catching his breath.

Hagrid and his dragon made another pass but did not fire upon the Death Eaters since they had charged across the grounds to intermingle with the surging resistance fighters. Harry was heartened to see that his side no longer appeared to be outnumbered, due to the fact that Voldemort's forces had suffered significant losses before the true battle had even begun.

"We're getting married tomorrow," Ron said suddenly.

"What?" The comment was so out of place that Harry could make no sense of it.

"Hermione and me; I asked her and she said yes. You're best man, so don't be late."

Harry caught the determined look in Ron's eyes, and – as the clashing forces pushed the battle toward its final outcome – understood what his best mate was trying to say.

"I'll be there," Harry promised, with a solemn nod to his two best friends. "But right now, we've got to find Ginny and end this." Now that Harry had a moment to think, his worry for Ginny consumed him. He was _desperate_ to find her; it would be almost impossible to continue fighting without knowing for sure that she was safe.

"If I know my sister, she'll be where the action is," said Ron with a look toward the full-blown wizarding war that now raged across the school grounds.

Without another word, Harry led his friends back into the fray.

It was chaos. Witches and wizards from both sides were rapidly falling as lightning-quick spells were traded at point-blank range. It would have been a bloodbath, but thankfully, the Death Eaters still recognized the reckless danger of casting to kill when their spells could strike friend as well as foe, and settled mostly on Stunning Spells instead. Similarly, Harry could not put the full offensive power of his magic to use without doing as much harm as good, so he focused on protecting Ron, Hermione, and as many anti-Voldemort fighters as he could, covering them with a succession of wandless Shield Charms while they struck down their bewildered opponents.

Harry had never before seen so much magic on display; the air crackled with energy, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand. And as the fighting continued, the clouds thickened and began to churn in the grey sky, casting the scene in an eerie, ethereal twilight in which wand flashes strobed across the battlefield.

Harry glimpsed many familiar faces while he worked his way through the crowd, going wherever he saw a friend in need. Bill fought alongside his father, the pair of them shouting instructions to nearby resistance fighters to coordinate their attacks; Professor McGonagall dueled three opponents at once with a chain of constantly changing spells; and with the situation rendering Norberta's broad, indiscriminate attacks useless, Hagrid had dismounted to engage the Death Eaters hand-to-hand. He roared through the crowd, absorbing Stunning Spells that did nothing to slow his massive form as he punched, threw, and pounced upon every enemy within reach of his dustbin-lid-sized hands. Death Eaters were falling in rapid succession, and Harry could sense the tide of battle turning in his favor.

"Look!" called Hermione, who pointed to the outer edge of the battlefield where three Death Eaters broke away and fled toward the forest. "We've got them on the run!"

But just as Harry spotted the deserters, they tumbled to the ground amid flashes of brightest green. Lord Voldemort had appeared before them, brought to the battle at last by the unacceptable possibility of defeat.

"FIGHT ON AND WIN – YOUR MASTER DEMANDS IT!" Voldemort looked livid as his amplified voice boomed over the battlefield. "FLEE OR FALL, AND YOUR ENTIRE FAMILY WILL BE SLAIN, YOUR HOMES BURNED TO THE GROUND!" There was a general cry from the Death Eaters as they desperately surged on, fighting twice as hard as before. And then, to Harry's horror, the Dark Lord himself joined the fray.

Harry pushed through the throng toward his archenemy, trading spells with scattered attackers as he went, but they were at opposite ends of the battlefield with many bystanders between them. Harry could do nothing as Voldemort cast his first curses, but instead of issuing the unblockable jets of dreaded green light Harry had expected to see, the Dark Lord cast spells that did not appear to have any immediate effect. But then his victims turned their wands on their fellow freedom fighters and Harry knew the horrible truth: they had been Imperiused.

Harry immediately saw the terrible danger in Voldemort's actions: for every witch or wizard the Dark Lord struck, the resistance both lost an ally and gained an enemy. As the Elder Wand continued to find new targets, the tide of battle began to turn back in the Death Eaters' favor, their numbers rapidly swelling while those of their enemies' fell just as fast. Through the gaps in the mass of robes that swirled between them, Harry saw Voldemort easily convert those who attempted to halt his advance; if Harry could do no better, the final fight of the wizarding war would quickly come to a disastrous end.

Harry kept fighting his way to Voldemort as the situation continued to worsen, and midway along his path, he had his first encounter with the Death Eaters' unwilling new allies. Neville and Luna, who had apparently not heeded Harry's advice to seek safety, bore down on him with their wands drawn. Despite the exceptional willpower Neville had shown against Bellatrix's Cruciatus Curse, Harry knew that his friend was much too weak to challenge the Dark Lord's hold, if such a thing were even possible. Against the unfathomable power of both Voldemort and the Elder Wand, Hermione's parents had shown no hesitation when ordered to kill their daughter.

Harry had once freed Professor McGonagall from Voldemort's Imperius Curse by supplanting it with one of his own, but as more combatants joined Neville and Luna in attacking Harry, he could not find the opening he needed to seize control. Outnumbered and alone, with Ron and Hermione having disappeared from his side during the battle, Harry lost his balance and nearly fell while twisting to deflect simultaneous attacks. In that brief moment his opponents converged on him, and when he came face to face with Mr. Weasley's vacant stare, Harry instinctively Disapparated. He reappeared midway between the crowd and the castle's front doors, and immediately threw up a Shield Charm. No curses came, however, as Voldemort's high, cold voice blared across the grounds once again.

"HOLD!"

Everyone under the Dark Lord's command – voluntarily or otherwise – came to a sudden stop. The small number of resistance fighters who had not yet been Imperiused or struck down ceased their attacks as well, but fearfully kept their wands trained on their enemy targets while clutching at injuries.

"Harry Potter," hissed Voldemort as he strode forward to stand across from Harry at the front of the crowd. "When last our forces clashed upon these grounds, you sought me out in the forest, ready to die by my hand to save your friends. Over the following months within the Chamber of Secrets, you wished nothing more than for me to destroy you along with the piece of my soul that I had mistakenly placed within your body, so that in return your friends might live in peace. If you are still willing to trade your life for theirs, I offer you that chance now." Voldemort gave a cruel smile, but despite his rediscovered confidence, his stance was ready; the Elder Wand clutched tightly in his hand. Behind him, the last remaining scraps of the resistance stood feebly against hopeless odds.

"Despite everything you have accomplished," continued Voldemort, "despite all that you have taken from me . . . you have _lost_. At the snap of my fingers those under my control will take their own lives, and the rest will be easily dealt with. But if you lay down your wand and take my Killing Curse, you have my word that every life will be spared; that your friends and allies will be allowed to serve me, to take part in shaping the new wizarding world. It is, perhaps, not a fate they would choose, but one that I think you would agree is preferable to death."

Harry's eyes flew over the faces of those he held dear, the lives of whom he now held in his hands. His mind scrambled to find a way out; searched for any solution that would allow him to save his allies and fight on. He had come too far to fail, and he refused to accept an outcome that would result in slaughter or a lifetime of servitude for his friends. But the fire within Harry faded when he caught sight of his two best friends, who now held their wands on each other. As Hermione's wide, watery eyes looked pleadingly into Ron's vacant stare, Harry was again reminded of the terrible ordeal she had been through with her Imperiused parents.

Harry dropped his wand. He still was not ready to surrender, but the gesture would buy him a few more seconds to think, and he did not need his wand to do magic. Voldemort's lipless mouth curved into a triumphant grin. And then, as it had done before, a single desperate idea burst into Harry's mind. Wordlessly and wandlessly, he cast his spell.

"You did well, Harry," said Voldemort as he slowly raised his wand. "You have shown me where I was weak, and for that, I thank you. Lord Voldemort will not make the same mistakes in the years to come."

Harry fought the urge to flee the coming curse and stayed rooted to the spot as the Elder Wand was leveled at him. Voldemort drew a breath to speak the incantation.

And then Harry caught the object he had summoned from the rubble that surrounded the Astronomy Tower. The Dark Lord had never before seen the small, cracked stone, and in his bewilderment, he hesitated for the second that Harry needed to hurriedly turn the object over in his hand three times.

Harry was just as shocked as Voldemort at the result: while the semisolid forms of his parents and the others appeared as expected, they did so among an army of additional otherworldly allies. Harry did not know many of them, but his heart leapt at the sight of Mad-Eye Moody, who he recognized despite the absence his battle scars, and with his original eye and leg intact. More shocking still was the figure who stood at the front of the gathering, whose hooked nose and greasy shoulder-length hair Harry had not seen since the night the man was murdered.

"Snape!" exclaimed Voldemort.

"_Professor_ Snape," Harry corrected. Years ago, he could never have imagined the elation that he would one day feel upon seeing his former potions master.

"My _lord_," said Snape with a sarcastic sneer, "Dumbledore sends his regards."

Once again, Voldemort had been caught completely off guard. The Death Eaters in the crowd behind him fearfully turned their wands from the remaining resistance fighters to the alarming new apparitions.

"How . . ." breathed Voldemort, his wide, red eyes flickering between the Resurrection Stone and the unprecedented sight before him. "What is this?"

"You do not recognize your own handiwork?" said Snape. "Every man and woman who stands here before you died at your hands, or else was killed by those in your service. We are your legacy."

"_Dumbledore is coming_," said a whisper in Harry's ear. He turned his head a fraction of an inch to see his mother standing beside him. "_He rounded everyone up – he has a plan._"

There was a long pause in which Voldemort considered Snape, the double agent he had been sure was his before learning of the man's true allegiance from Harry's memories.

"Ah, yes," said Voldemort, breaking the silence, "I remember now. Traitors, Mudbloods, and assorted filth." His slit eyes roamed over his victims while a look of confidence returned to his face. "Some of you died screaming; many while on your knees. Or as Severus, begging to be set free."

Snape's sneer turned into a true look of menace that was more threatening, even, than any of the glares he had ever given Harry.

"Do you expect the Dark Lord to cower, to beg forgiveness? To surrender to those whom I have already destroyed? You should know me better than that, Severus." Turning back to Harry, he added, "You may have caught Lord Voldemort by surprise before, boy, but I cannot be fooled so easily a second time. _Avada Kedavra_." Voldemort lazily cast his Killing Curse, sending a jet of green light straight through the semitransparent bodies of Snape and the many people who stood directly behind him.

"As I suspected," said Voldemort, his expression smug. "Cheap parlor tricks, meant only to distract. If any of you could have acted, you would have done so earlier."

Harry looked at his would-be saviors and saw his panic reflected in their faces. Voldemort had called their bluff, and now nothing stood in the way of the Dark Lord's ultimate victory.

"Now Harry, where were we?" said Voldemort with relish in his voice. He again aimed the Elder Wand directly at Harry's heart.

"NO!" screamed Lily, who stepped in front of her son and faced Voldemort with her arms outstretched, her desperation overcoming all logic. Voldemort gave a high, derisive laugh, and the Death Eaters positioned throughout the crowd behind him – perhaps feeling for the first time that they were truly out of danger – joined him with their own raucous guffaws.

"My, this _does_ bring back memories," said Voldemort. "A pity you cannot save him a second time; a pity I cannot kill you twice."

The Death Eaters' laughter grew louder as Harry's mother continued to stand uselessly before him, her face twisted in anger and sorrow.

"LEAVE MY FAMILY ALONE!" roared James, who stepped to his wife's side. Harry had never seen his father look like this; he appeared wild with rage.

The Death Eaters doubled over with laughter, so they did not immediately see Harry's father begin to charge at their master. Here at the end, with his son about to be murdered before his very eyes, James – like Lily – acted only out of blind desperation. He seemed to have forgotten that he was not substantially solid enough to help, his footsteps falling like feathers upon the grass. Ahead of him, Voldemort watched the rampage with an expression that was both bored and bemused.

Harry ached to wipe the smug look from Voldemort's hated face, to prove that his parents' sacrifice had not been in vain; had not simply kept him alive so that he could fail and die at a later date. He desperately wanted to provide justice for his father, and to erase his mother's tortured expression.

Harry's blood boiled and pounded through his veins as his every emotion – fear; panic; desperation; love – pooled into limitless anger. He clenched his fists so tightly that his fingernails cut into his hands. The Resurrection Stone burned hot against his palm.

Thud . . .

Thud . . .

THUD . . .

THUD!

Only Harry noticed the rising volume of his father's footsteps, but everyone heard the crack that rang out as James's fist connected with Voldemort's jaw. It was as if a Silencing Charm had been cast upon the crowd as the Dark Lord fell, wearing an almost comical look of complete and utter surprise. He sprawled against the grass in a most undignified way, and James – now every bit as solid as Harry – stood over the man who had tormented his family, his wrath blinding him to the fact that the world had just changed.

"THAT WAS FOR MY _WIFE_, YOU BASTARD!"

Time stood still as the shock of what had happened reverberated through all who had witnessed it, and Harry found that his mother now obstructed his view. He spun around to see that everyone he had called forth with the Resurrection Stone was similarly solid, and they looked over their own fully formed bodies with as much wonder as Harry. As his mind began to question what had happened and how, he found that he knew the answer. He could _feel_ the change, the immense amount of unrestrained magic that he was unknowingly channeling into the stone. And somehow, Harry knew that if he relented even a little – that if his concentration wavered, or if he gave anything less than the full, unbridled might of his magic – this temporary transformation would come to an immediate end.

A heartbeat later, the reinforcements that Dumbledore had sent roared to life and thundered toward the Death Eaters with Sirius Black leading the charge. Harry's godfather followed James's example and plunged fist-first into the nearest group of enemies, spearheading an unstoppable physical force that swarmed Voldemort's ranks.

The battle had been renewed, only this time the Death Eaters faced foes that could not be stopped, opponents who had already died once and could not be killed again. The newcomers could not cast magic, but no Death Eater spell could keep them down. Harry saw Snape blasted through the air only to leap to his feet and sprint back into battle, and Mad-Eye barely slowed his advance as he shook off Stunning Spells to wrest his attackers' wands away as easily as if he was taking toys from children.

James pounced upon the Dark Lord and did not give him a chance to issue any orders to those under his control. Harry gloried in every blow his father landed against Voldemort, even as the Resurrection Stone grew hotter and hotter, feeling as though it would burn through his hand, draining him of magical energy at an incredible rate.

The air was now so thick with ambient magic that it continually buzzed upon Harry's skin like a mild electric shock. The sky churned ever more violently and began to produce infinite flakes of snowy ash that fell across the grounds, painting the clash a dull, lifeless color.

The remaining members of the resistance rejoined the fight and supported the physical assault with spells, and Harry's heart soared when he saw Ron and others break free of Voldemort's Imperius Curse. Here again was a clear sign that the Dark Lord's power had lessened since their last encounter.

There was a sound like a crack of thunder and Harry turned to see his father tumble across the ground, rolling end over end like a ragdoll. Voldemort rose with the Elder Wand in hand, his face beaten and bloodied, spinning in place as he took in the chaos all around him. In less than a minute his forces had nearly been finished by enemies he had no longer thought were of any concern.

Having overcome their Death Eater opponents, many of Harry's summoned supporters attempted to overwhelm Voldemort with the sheer force of their numbers. Their charge came to an abrupt and violent end, however, when the Dark Lord held his wand aloft and blasted them back with a bolt of lightning that struck from the churning grey clouds overhead. He roared in defiance, enraged by the audacity of his attackers and the unforgivable failure of his forces.

As those who were thrown back by Voldemort's attack quickly returned to their feet, Harry's struggle to keep them whole became desperate. He had never before felt so magically drained as the Resurrection Stone greedily fed upon the last of his reserves – in a matter of seconds, he would have nothing left with which to finish Voldemort.

With his friends out of harm's way and only the Dark Lord left standing against them, Harry stopped pouring magic into the stone and saw its connected combatants return to their intangible state. Marshalling his remaining energy, he quickly enclosed himself and Voldemort in a large, clear barrier that was carefully placed to keep all of Harry's living allies out. The Dark Lord's wild eyes leapt from the surrounding forces to his magical prison before settling on Harry.

"I won't let you leave by magic or by foot," said Harry. "You're trapped in here with me, Tom, and we're going to finish this." Harry made to take a step forward but wobbled, realizing with alarm just how weak the Resurrection Stone had left him.

"No, Potter," said Voldemort, "_you _are trapped in here with _me_." The Dark Lord did not display his usual arrogance, but emitted a deadly focus and singular sense of purpose. With his plans ruined, his Death Eaters defeated, and the last of his Horcruxes destroyed, it was clear that Voldemort had but one objective now: to at long last kill the one who had cost him everything.

"Harry!" yelled Hermione in alarm, as she and many others pressed against the outside of the impenetrable dome.

"Harry, don't be stupid!" shouted Ron. "You don't have to do this alone – he can't stop us all!"

But Harry was not so sure. Even if Voldemort was not at full strength, he was still capable of killing many good witches and wizards before he was brought down – if indeed the crowd could overpower him – and Harry would risk no more lives but his own. _He_ was the one Voldemort had chosen as his equal by trying to murder him as a baby; _he_ was the one who had accepted and carried the burden of the prophecy. Harry had decided long ago to see this through to the very end.

Harry stood thirty feet from the man he had sworn to kill, and for an endless moment the mortal enemies stared at one another as the falling flakes of feathery ash slowly painted the ground white. Those in the crowd – resigning themselves to simply observe – quieted down and nervously awaited the beginning of the end. Beside him, Harry's parents and their friends – who were unaffected by the barrier and had gathered at his side – looked anxious also.

"You can do this, son," said James. "You've come this far, now finish it."

Harry nodded his acknowledgment but did not break Voldemort's gaze. He reached deep within himself and began to pull his remaining magical energy together, focusing it, preparing for one last, big push to the end.

The Dark Lord raised the Elder Wand to battle position and stepped forward.

"A moment if you please, Tom."

The onlookers beyond the barrier gasped as Albus Dumbledore burst into being between the two wizards, halting their duel the instant it was to begin. Voldemort took a step back but appeared to have passed the point where he could continue to be surprised. He observed this newest, most least-welcome arrival shrewdly.

"Dumbledore," he spat, "I wondered when you would show your decrepit face. What would a gathering such as this be without the glorious gift of _Albus Dumbledore's_ presence? It was well timed, arriving when all eyes would be upon you."

"And arriving fashionably late, I might add," said Dumbledore, as calm and serene as ever, although Harry saw through his genial air; noticed the slight narrowing of his piercing blue eyes and the tensing of his jaw that signaled just how important this moment was. "I apologize for not arriving sooner," he continued, addressing those he had sent in his stead, "but I was determined to locate one more who I wished to join us. One who, I think, may upstage even myself."

"Must we do this all day?" said Voldemort with an exaggerated weariness. "Am I to endure empty threats from _every_ cockroach I have crushed beneath my heel? Their self-righteous anger means nothing to me, Dumbledore. I rarely remember the faces or the names."

"Actually, Tom, this is one person whom you did _not_ destroy – not in the most literal sense, anyway. You have never seen her face, but I suspect that you will know her name." Dumbledore gestured to the empty spot beside him where he was joined by a woman, who strode forth from nowhere as if stepping out from behind a veil. Harry immediately recognized her plain, pale face and long, limp hair, although she appeared slightly older, less skittish, and – if possible – even more sorrowful than when he last saw her in Dumbledore's Pensive.

"Tom, this is Merope Gaunt . . . this is your mother."

Voldemort's frozen face betrayed no emotion as he took her in. When he did not speak or act for several long, silent moments, Merope took a tentative step toward him and spoke in a quiet, careful voice.

"You have to stop this, Tom. Please . . . no more fighting. No more killing. You don't have to do this; there's still hope for you."

"What . . . _right_," Voldemort began, pausing as life returned to his face and anger lit his features, "have you to ask anything of _me_? Who are you to me but the mere means to my existence? Meat and bone and blood whose only use was to produce the child who would one day become the greatest wizard the world has ever known? You succumbed to death before you could be of any further use. Do not presume to know me, woman."

"I have watched you, Tom . . . for all your life . . ."

"Enough of this!" commanded Voldemort, outraged as he began to pace back and forth with his eyes locked onto his old rival. "_This_ was your final hand to play, Dumbledore? Thinking that Lord Voldemort would fall to his knees and renounce his ways upon hearing a touching tale of motherly love?"

"Love?" said Merope. Voldemort shot her a furious look of contempt but did not interrupt as she spoke. "I loved you the only time that I ever held you in my arms. I loved you as a boy, despite the terrible things you did to those children at the orphanage. And even when you released Slytherin's monster and killed that poor girl, I loved you still. How could I not? You were my son. I blamed myself for your actions, for not having been there to guide you toward a better path." Merope sighed, and when next she spoke, it was with her eyes closed in pain. "But when you murdered your father . . . I could never forgive you for that."

When Merope returned her gaze to Voldemort, Harry saw in her eyes a strength that must have formed during the decades she spent alone in death without her abusive family to hinder her. "Love did not bring me here today, Tom, but responsibility. _I_ unleashed your evil upon the world, which I have been powerless to stop. But you _must_ listen to me – if there is any hope for you, you have to atone for the horrible things you've done. Your soul is so damaged that there isn't enough of you left to pass on to the next life. If you truly want to live on, you have only one choice left: please, Tom, try to feel some _remorse_."

Merope quieted, and while she and everyone in attendance waited for Voldemort to respond, Lily whispered into Harry's ear.

"This isn't going to work, Harry. Dumbledore didn't really think it would, but he was determined to try. The real point of this was to create a distraction, to set Voldemort up for you to deliver the killing blow. Get ready."

Harry – who had become engrossed in the unfolding drama – once again braced himself to take action.

"_Remorse_?" said Voldemort, spitting out the word as if it had a terrible taste. "How dare you, you filthy Muggle-loving whore . . ." Despite Voldemort's declaration otherwise, it seemed that his mother's condemnation struck him harder than any curse ever had. His eyes flashed to Harry, wide, wild, and full of murder.

Harry and Voldemort echoed each other as they simultaneously cast their Killing Curses, and each managed to just miss the other as they dodged out of the way. Great hunks of earth exploded into the air where their spells struck, and the final fight for the fate of the wizarding world was on at last.

Jets of green light repeatedly crossed through the air as the two cast only to kill, which sent the surrounding crowd scurrying to a safe distance away from the dome, for no magical protection could contain a stray Killing Curse. Harry was forced to cast away the Resurrection Stone and everyone it had brought forth as he dashed, dove, and spun around the Dark Lord's attacks, a hit from any one of which would mean instant death. Voldemort was faster, more skilled, and less injured, but as Harry had learned from Dumbledore during his year of captivity, his wand was especially powerful against his mortal enemy. It sought out Voldemort on its own, pulling Harry's arm along with it whenever he was too distracted to return fire himself. The result was a stalemate that seemed to last and last as neither wizard could finish the other.

Harry's lungs felt as though they were on fire as he huffed and puffed, unable to pause for even a fraction of a second to catch his breath. He was reaching both his physical and magical limits, and knew that as the battle wore on, Voldemort would gain the edge he needed to win. But try as he might, Harry could not come close to hitting his enemy from a distance, who seemed to slither between his curses with the speed of a snake. Despite his previous failures to engage the Dark Lord at close range, Harry realized that doing so remained his only hope.

So upon spinning past another Killing Curse, Harry began to charge. His feet kicking up earth and ash as he pounded forward, Harry willed every last ounce of magical energy into his wand for one final all-or-nothing attack. One way or another, the Dark Lord and the Chosen One would discover their true destiny within the next few seconds. Harry threw himself past incoming spells, dodging death from left and right, then heaved his wand arm over his shoulder and arced it down across his body.

"_SECTUM SEMPRA_!" he bellowed, and a great trench ripped through the ground beneath Voldemort's Shield Charm that sent him reeling as he scrambled to find his footing. Harry continued his wide swing, following its momentum into a spin that carried him within a few feet of his target. Voldemort's crimson eyes grew wide as Harry came back around to face him, and the Dark Lord had no time to dodge or defend as the wand swung down to aim directly at his chest. With everything he had left, Harry shouted his final incantation to the heavens.

"_AVADA KEDAVRA_!"

In that endless moment, a lifetime of hopes and fears flashed through Harry's mind, and he saw everything he had ever wanted for himself vanish as his wand failed to produce so much as a spark.

His magic finally drained in full, Harry fell forward to clumsily clutch at the Dark Lord's robes and was immediately struck across the face. He crashed to the ground where a cloud of ash puffed into the air around him, and then felt a kick crush into his ribs. Harry closed in upon himself to protect from further injury but was blasted from the spot and rolled roughly along the ground.

Through a haze of pain, Harry could vaguely discern shouts and screams coming from all around him as those in the surrounding crowd rushed forward to retake their positions against the domed barrier. He forced open his eyes to find Voldemort standing ten feet away; the Dark Lord had paused to gather himself now that the duel had come to an abrupt end. Broken and beyond his limits, Harry fought desperately to stand but could rise no further than his hands and knees. With his magical reserves entirely drained, injuries that Harry had previously healed returned to pile on top of his new ones. His mind was screaming for him to pick up his wand, to stand and fight, but it took all of his willpower not to slump back to the ground. Quivering nearly to the point of collapse, Harry managed to raise his head just enough to look at Voldemort.

"Harry!" cried Bill, his voice raw with desperation. "Dispel the barrier! Let us in! HARRY!"

"Ah, if only he could," answered Voldemort, who had never looked more snakelike as he coolly observed his helpless prey. "But you foolishly exhausted every last bit of your magic, didn't you, Harry? You haven't the strength to transfigure a tea cup."

"The spell will b-break when I die, and when it d-does, they'll kill you, too."

"No, I do not think so," said Voldemort with a satisfied smile. "The moment I am free to Disapparate, I will leave this place. And then do you know what Lord Voldemort will do, Harry Potter? I will march from town to town, from city to city, placing everyone I come across under the Imperius Curse, and then I will return to this castle with a _thousand_ men at my disposal. _Ten_ thousand. I will use Muggles if I have to, women and children. I was foolish to ever trust in those who would _willingly_ serve me, to have placed such importance on indulging the wants of simple-minded thugs when they have continually repaid my efforts with incompetence and treachery."

Harry's left arm buckled and he fell to his elbow, leaving him in a shaky kind of lopsided bow as the Dark Lord strode a few steps closer.

"How do you think your friends will fare against an endless army of innocents, Harry? The only thing they have gained today is a chance to run. But I will find them, Harry; I will find them all. I will collect the secrets of those who I place under my command, the names and locations of everyone who has ever spoken against me. You will not want for friends to keep you company in death, I promise you."

A new kind of panic shot through Harry, and he rode its power up to a sitting position. He wanted desperately to stand, to die on his feet rather than on his knees, but he would have to settle for staring defiantly into his killer's eyes as the curse was cast.

"No longer will I attempt to worm my way into the world as it currently exists; I will scorch the earth and start over, reshaping it as I see fit. No force will be able to stand against me. And it all starts the moment I kill _you_."

This was it – Harry had nothing left to fall back on; no more tricks up his sleeve. He had come this far only to fall short. He heard the cries of those who had loved, supported, and followed him; some of them threatened Voldemort while others threw all honor aside and begged him for mercy. Harry, shaking upon his knees, simply stared into his enemy's slit eyes and whispered his final words.

"_I'm sorry, Ginny_."

Voldemort took aim.

"Farewell, Harry Potter."

The noise from the crowd reached a crescendo as the Dark Lord cast his Killing Curse, and Harry was blinded by a flash of brightest green . . .

. . . but he did not die. He did not even feel the spell strike his chest. Suddenly, the only sound upon the grounds was Harry's short, rapid breaths as he looked confusedly between himself and the Elder Wand, trying to understand what had happened.

And then Ginny fell into view directly in front of Harry, her long hair trailing behind her as her head lolled forward to slip free of the Invisibility Cloak's hood. Harry caught her as she crumpled against him and his knees buckled, sending them both to the ground.

"_No_," he breathed, rolling Ginny onto her back to look at her. Her limbs were limp; her eyes were open but did not see. A single, terrible shriek rang out across the grounds, a tortured sound torn from Mrs. Weasley's throat. Harry stared at the girl before him in disbelief, his mind unable to accept what had happened. It wasn't until he realized that someone was laughing that Harry looked away from the frozen, freckled face.

"A final lesson," said Voldemort, who laughed mockingly. "How many does this make, Harry? How many have laid down their lives for you? And this one, uselessly stepping in front of my curse when I can so easily cast another . . . Love is madness; a folly for fools. It was always your undoing, Potter, and see how your insanity has spread."

The words were meant to hurt, but Harry did not feel them as he dazedly lowered his gaze back to Ginny. The grass where she lay was growing greener, and all around her flowers were beginning to blossom. Harry could feel the magically charged air churn, reacting to the overwhelming emotion that was welling up inside him. He saw a shaking hand brush errant strands of red hair from her face and realized it was his. Someone was shouting threats at Voldemort – Ron, perhaps – but Harry could focus only on the face before him, the face he adored.

How long had she been by his side? Since he put up the barrier, certainly. Had she stayed close earlier, in battle, ready to step in the moment Harry's guard was down? Without a wand, was this how she had decided to aid him?

Harry looked upon her and found that he no longer worried about Voldemort, or the war, or whatever was to become of him; he clutched Ginny tightly and wept without a care for what would come next. What did it matter if he died, when life was no longer worth fighting for?

"Behold, _love_ – Dumbledore's famed 'greatest power' – on full display," said Voldemort with distain, gesturing to Harry as he addressed the watching crowd. "Pathetic."

Harry heard Voldemort walk toward him but did not look up from Ginny's body, which he held to with the very last of his strength.

"Stand," commanded the Dark Lord. "Rise and take my curse like a wizard, Potter; not as some feeble fool, sniveling upon the ground."

Harry did not stand. He did not care. But the next moment, he was torn from Ginny as if by invisible hands and lifted to his feet where he hung limply at the tip of the Elder Wand. With a swift slash through the air, Voldemort sent Harry soaring over the ground until he struck the barrier, which he was held against while the Dark Lord strode slowly after him. While pressed painfully against the invisible magical wall, Harry found himself face to face with those pressed against its other side. Only an inch separated him from Ron and Hermione, who placed their hands on the barrier as if to touch him.

"We love you, H-Harry," choked Hermione, a tortured expression upon her tear-streaked face. Beside her, Ron could say nothing as tears flowed from his eyes in anger. He put his head to Harry's against the barrier and held his best friend's gaze, lending him what strength he could for what was to come next. But Harry was not afraid to die, for as Voldemort stopped a few feet away and spun him around to face the Elder Wand, he realized that death would reunite him with Ginny.

"Look upon your hero and know that his fate awaits you all," said Voldemort in a cold, clear voice that carried across the crowd. "There will be no escape. There will be no mercy. For all that you have done here today, you will . . ."

Harry gazed upon his enemy unconcernedly, not hearing his words, waiting for the humiliation to come to an end. In his mind, he had already left Voldemort and everyone else behind and was about to be with Ginny again. He imagined her face – flushed with life, and with eyes that saw him clearly – and could suddenly see her standing in the distance.

"G-Ginny . . ." he breathed, a smile forming on his lips. But she did not appear joyful at this reunion; her eyes were cold and heartless, and she looked beaten and battle-worn. She raised a wand that Harry recognized was his own, and from the crowd behind him, Harry heard a chorus of startled gasps.

"Get the hell away from Harry."

Harry was dropped to the ground as Voldemort spun around to discover that yet another of his victims had somehow returned, only Ginny was not transparent, nor was she an immaculate spirit – she was as whole and full of life as everyone else. Many people cried out to Ginny – the members of her family chief among them – but she did not acknowledge them. Harry's wand shook slightly in her hand as she held it on Voldemort, and her eyes left his for only a fraction of a second to check Harry.

It was as though Harry had suddenly switched back on, and his mind spun into action, simultaneously trying to believe and disprove the impossible image before him. There was no doubt that Ginny had taken the Killing Curse, which in all of wizarding history only Harry had ever survived. Even if Voldemort no longer commanded the full power of the Elder Wand, could his magic really be so ineffective?

And then Harry gasped as the final piece of the puzzle fell into place. He _had_ wrested control of the Elder Wand from the Dark Lord during their previous duel; had taken its allegiance by force as all of its previous owners had done. But since then Harry had known defeat at the hand of _another_; had been struck down while he was believed to be a Death Eater in disguise.

Ginny Weasley was the true master of the Elder Wand, and it would not slay her.

"I said _move away_ from him," ordered Ginny, gesturing with her wand for the Dark Lord to distance himself from Harry so that she would have a clear shot. Voldemort, who had stood stock-still while he considered this latest hitch in his plans, tightened his grip on the Elder Wand and took a slow step sideways. But in the blink of an eye he dissolved into a dark cloud, a whirling mass of robes that sped away along the inside arc of the barrier. Ginny threw a volley of curses that trailed behind him as he swiftly swept around to the spot behind her, where he re-solidified and counterattacked in the same fluid motion. Ginny dove under his spells and deftly rolled to her feet to join the Dark Lord in another exchange.

Harry remained crumpled against the base of the barrier, his heart hammering in his chest while he helplessly watched Ginny duel the Dark Lord. He fought to stand – to rise to his knees, even – and desperately searched for a single spark of magical or physical strength to build upon.

The crowd shrieked as Ginny stumbled past a curse that nearly caught her, then gave a roar of triumph when Harry's wand involuntarily responded with a spell that left a long diagonal gash across Voldemort's chest. The sight of his own spilled blood seemed to startle the Dark Lord, and Ginny pressed her advantage, hurriedly hurling hexes, curses, and jinxes – anything that might have a chance of hitting him.

With an almighty heave, Harry swung forward from the barrier to catch himself on his hands and knees. He could not feel his limbs, which trembled as he fought not to fall flat on his face. He pictured his left foot dragging forward to plant itself under him and willed his leg to listen, but it would not receive the message, the connection between mind and body seemingly cut.

The crowd roared again as the Dark Lord failed to deflect a Stunning Spell that grazed him. He was fighting sloppy now, desperate. The hits appeared to have rattled him, and it occurred to Harry that Voldemort, who feared death above all else, had never before been forced to confront his own mortality. He was losing and he had no contingency plan in place, no Horcrux to hide behind. Slowed by Ginny's attack, he slung spells back at her with no strategy behind them, blindly lashing out in panic as he struggled to regain control. But Ginny would not relent, and Harry had never seen her spellwork so sharp. She was thinking several steps ahead, and Harry suddenly saw the trap she was laying; in three more moves she would have him.

When the final strike came, Harry thought for sure that it would end the battle. But Voldemort, his back against death's door, lashed back with inhuman speed and their curses collided in midair, joining their wands with jets of light. Electricity arced from the unified beam, which sparked and crackled as Ginny and Voldemort each tried to take control.

"C'mon Harry, get up!" yelled Ron, who, alongside Hermione, had knelt to pound at the barrier behind Harry's back. "He's wide open, this is your chance!"

"He can't defend against you without breaking the connection!" shouted Hermione. "You've got to do something! HARRY!"

A knee slid forward and Harry crawled a step. The simple movement seemed to double the invisible weight that pushed down upon his back, but he did not let it crush him.

Ginny cried out as she lost ground to Voldemort, who started to seize control of their stalemate despite the handicap of a wand that was halfheartedly his.

Harry _had_ to reach him, _had_ to help Ginny stop the man who would kill them all, the man who had already caused so much misery . . . the man who had murdered Harry's parents.

Spurred by a sudden spike of anger, Harry crawled forward another few inches. He summoned every ounce of hatred he had ever felt for Voldemort; pulled at every dagger the Dark Lord had ever stuck him with.

Riddle's vile diary had poisoned Ginny during her first year at school.

Harry moved farther across the grass.

Voldemort had ordered the death of Cedric Diggory.

Harry crept closer still.

The bastard had cost Harry his godfather and torn apart Fred and George; had held Harry for a _year_ inside the Chamber of Secrets; had murdered Hermione's parents and countless other Muggles, hunted those Harry loved, and twisted the world Harry belonged to. He had ruined Harry's _life_!

Harry had crawled close enough to Voldemort to draw his attention. The Dark Lord, shaking with exertion as magical energy arced from the connected spells and cracked all around him, gave Harry a wary glance and then roared in defiance as he redoubled his efforts to push Ginny back and free himself from the struggle. Ginny gritted her teeth as the extra pressure shook her so violently that it appeared as though she were being electrocuted. She spluttered incoherently as the overflowing power rippled through her robes, shredding them, but the blazing look remained in her eyes until, finally, she could hold on no longer.

"_HARRRYYY_!"

Her scream ended in an ear-splitting _boom_ and Ginny was blasted off her feet. The abrupt absence of pressure caused Voldemort to stagger forward a step, but he instantly recovered and swung his wand down toward Harry, who reached the Dark Lord's feet in the same moment.

"_AVADA –"_

But Harry reached up and caught Voldemort's wand hand before the curse was completed, and the Dark Lord suddenly screamed in terrible agony. He quickly pulled free of Harry's feeble grip to find his hand covered in blisters, and Harry instinctively grabbed Voldemort's ankle, which again caused the Dark Lord to howl in pain and then topple to the ground.

As Voldemort thrashed about, Harry pulled himself up onto his enemy and seized the Dark Lord's head with his hands. The flesh beneath Harry's fingers instantly began to burn, and Voldemort gave a high-pitched shriek of suffering as he locked his terrified eyes onto his tormentor.

Harry's mind flashed back to his first year at Hogwarts, when Professor Quirrell – who had been possessed by Voldemort – attacked him. Harry's touch had been deadly to Quirrell because of a magical protection bestowed by Harry's mother, who had loved her child so much that she sacrificed her life to save him. But it was a different sacrifice that protected Harry now, made by another whose love for him was so strong that she had meant to die in his place.

"_NOW_ DO YOU SEE?" bellowed Harry as Voldemort's skin burned red and raw. "_NOW_ DO YOU UNDERSTAND? YOU HAVE _NEVER_ . . ."

Voldemort gurgled as his face cracked and crumbled.

". . . _BEEN_ . . ."

The slit eyes rolled back and then sunk into their sockets.

". . . _STRONG_!"

The thrashing stopped, but Harry continued to stare into the hollowed shell that had been the most feared face in wizarding history. A breeze blew its ashen remains from Harry's fingertips while he struggled to comprehend the moment – he had treaded so precariously upon the razor's edge of death that he could not accept that he was safe at last. But when Harry felt her hands pull him from the blackened body, he finally knew that it was over.

Lord Voldemort was dead, killed by a power he had never known.

Ginny brought Harry up to his knees and silently held him against her, clutching his ragged robes tightly as she buried her face in his shoulder. The feel of her brought Harry back to his senses and he lifted his heavy arms just enough to clasp his hands behind her waist. He suddenly realized that a deafening roar was coming from all around him, cries of indescribable joy and incredible relief.

Ginny, sniffling and seeming as exhausted as Harry felt, pulled back to look at the crowd while wiping her eyes. Her father's arms were wrapped around her mother, who had sunk to her knees against the barrier and was shaking as she sobbed. Everyone around them cheered –Ginny's brothers were by far the loudest – except for Ron and Hermione, who remained still and simply gave Harry small, weary smiles. Nobody knew the full story of what it had taken to reach this moment like they did.

Ginny turned her dirty, tear-slicked face back to Harry, and he stared reverently into her adoring eyes. He meant to thank her for saving his life – to somehow recognize the weight of what she had been willing to give to help him see this through – but when no expression seemed adequate he simply spoke the words that waited upon his lips.

"I love you."

Her face wrenched between joy and sorrow, Ginny cupped Harry's cheek and kissed him.

"I love you, too."

* * *

Some time later, Harry and Ginny sat on the castle's front steps under a bright, blue sky that had broken through the morning clouds. Madame Pomfrey hovered over them both as she put the finishing touches on a series of healing spells, potions, and ointments that removed the worst of their pains and left them feeling merely achy and exhausted. The matron had moved the entire contents of the hospital wing to the courtyard where healers from St. Mungo's saw to everyone else who had been injured.

Harry had one arm wrapped around Ginny, who rested against his side, and held the Elder Wand with his free hand. He rolled the wand between his fingers, feeling the pulsating power of its allegiance and marveling at how it had come to be in his possession. Ginny, upon learning that she was the master of the world's most powerful wizarding weapon, had resolutely refused to bear such a burden and passed it peacefully to Harry, who had promised to return the wand to Dumbledore's tomb where it could cause no more harm. Harry had not been certain that ownership of the wand could be passed on that way, for none of its previous owners would have ever let it go willingly. But Harry also knew that the Elder Wand had never known a master like Ginny Weasley. With the wand lending him its extra power, Harry had been able to free he and Ginny from the confines of the magical barrier.

In addition to the wand, Harry's hand also held a new scar that was the exact size and shape of the Resurrection Stone. Madame Pomfrey had so far been unable to remove the mark, but of all his many scars, Harry minded this one the least. It signified the moment that the battle had turned in their favor; the only time since Harry was a year old that his family had joined him fully in the real world.

Ginny held the stone now so that Harry's loved ones and all the others who had come to his aid could walk among the living for what Harry knew would be the last time. The semisolid figures shined in the sunlight as they spread through the scattered crowd, greeting those whom they had known in life and saying the goodbyes they had not been able to before. The students who fled into the forest had been recalled, along with the members of Slytherin house, who had remained in their common room for the duration of the fight. Looking as though they did not belong, the Slytherins – who had left their fellow students to die – stood far away from everyone else.

Miraculously, no one who fought against Voldemort's forces had been killed. Some came very close, and had the healers not sprang into action so quickly, there would have been casualties. It had, however, been too late to help several Death Eaters, including Gregory Goyle, Fenrir Greyback, Amycus Carrow, and Bellatrix Lestrange, but losing them did not dampen the celebration. Harry did, however, feel a twinge of regret for the loss of Lucius Malfoy. The Death Eater had done too many terrible things to ever be forgiven, but with his dying breath, he had provided the information that led to the removal of the school's protections and the arrival of the invading forces. Harry wondered if it had been enough to satisfy Draco, who had asked his father to help Harry in exchange for an eventual reconciliation in the afterlife.

Harry and Ginny were surrounded by their closest friends and family, and it cheered Harry to watch those from both this world and the next intermingle one last time. Everyone was thrilled to see Remus, Tonks, and Sirius again, and it had warmed Harry's heart to at last see his parents meet Ginny's. But where the Weasleys were concerned, no other presence meant nearly as much as Fred's. He gave words of comfort to his parents and laughed with his brothers, regaling them with tales of their late, uncouth uncle Bilius's more recent antics. Harry watched them with great affection and knew that while Fred's absence would always be felt, the scar that his death had left upon his family would at last be fully healed.

Ron and Hermione sat together a few steps down from Harry and Ginny, and they, like many others, rode a wave of churning, changing emotions that took them from tears to laughter and back again as they absorbed the enormity of what had happened. Dumbledore quietly observed the scene from several feet away, looking pleased but fatigued. It seemed as if he had finally unloaded a weight that he had carried since long before Harry was born.

"Sure you don't want me to hoist ol' Snivellus up by his underpants, James?"

At Sirius's words, Harry's gaze drifted to a distant spot by the lake where – not far from where Norberta the dragon was drinking – Snape was engaged in a private conversation with Lily.

"The git's got it coming for how he's treated Harry all these years," Sirius went on, "no matter what else he might have done for our side."

James shrugged and answered his best friend while watching his wife.

"Tempting, Padfoot . . . but no. I don't exactly want Snape hanging around now that he's finally shown himself, but I reckon it's time to put this old grudge to rest.

Sirius looked outraged.

"You're going to let him off the hook for all the times he made life hell for Harry?"

James smiled as Lily began to gesture angrily and a small hint of her shouts carried across the grounds to them.

"I don't expect Snape to get off easy," he said. "This is Lily's business; she'll decide how best to handle it."

Harry silently agreed. After all he had been through, he simply felt too exhausted to carry on hating anyone anymore. And in any case, he found it difficult to still despise someone who had loved his mother, even though the thought that they could have ever been together was quite nauseating.

Sirius grumbled but could not stop a smile as he watched Lily continue to lash out at Snape, who was backpedalling now.

"Fine," he said gruffly. "But he doesn't get to be a Marauder. With Remus running things, we've been letting _anyone_ join up lately."

"You lot didn't set the bar for membership very high," said Tonks, taking mock offense. "And a Metamorphmagus trumps an Animagus any day if you ask me."

"And it takes a young pup to teach an old dog new tricks," Fred added cheerfully.

"All right, all right," said Sirius, who sighed but kept his smile. "But we'll hold off on adding anyone else. Well, except for Harry, of course." He turned toward Harry and gave him a wink. "We'll save a spot for when you join us."

"Many, many years from now," said James.

"Two spots," said Ginny from Harry's shoulder. Catching Harry's eyes, she added, "I'm never letting you out of my sight again." Harry smiled at her.

"Sounds good to me," he said.

"Three," said Remus, addressing Sirius. "Three spots. Don't forget about Teddy." Turning to Harry, he added, "You'll visit him, won't you? After you've taken some time to rest?"

"Yeah," said Harry, who felt a pleasant shock as he realized that he would finally get the chance to meet his godson. It was one of the many things he had longed to do but thought could never happen. In realizing that he could enjoy getting to know Teddy without having to travel in secret or worry about the security of safe houses, Harry's improbable victory suddenly seemed all the more real. "I'll have him on a broom by his next birthday."

Remus chuckled along with Sirius and James. But as their laughter faded into silent smiles, Harry sensed that their time together was nearly up. This feeling was intensified when Dumbledore stepped from the fringe of the group to stand directly before Harry at the foot of the steps. For several long moments the aged wizard gazed upon his prized pupil with a curious expression. His immense joy and pride was evident, but there was something else there that Harry could not discern, a secret burden that sapped some of the enthusiasm from Dumbledore's face.

"Harry . . . I owe you a great apology."

Dumbledore paused, and Harry's curiosity peaked as he noticed his father, Sirius, and Remus shift uncomfortably. When, after several seconds, Dumbledore did not continue, Harry spoke up.

"What is it, Professor?"

Dumbledore gave a wan but warm smile.

"I thought we had established that you would call me Albus," he said genially. "At this point I have learned far too much from you, Harry, for you to consider me your teacher." He sighed and dropped his gaze to the ground. "Before I leave you, there is something I must confess. You see, on the night that Voldemort returned, when he used your blood to help create his new body, I knew what that would mean. By taking your blood he also took within him the protective magic that was placed upon you when your mother died to protect you, and Voldemort could therefore touch you, even attack you, without harming himself. This is what he had intended. But I believed this action had also produced another, unintended effect. As long as your mother's magic was kept alive within Voldemort's body . . . you could not die."

The words rattled around inside Harry's head as their meaning sank in. He felt Ginny straighten up beside him.

"You mean . . . _oh_ . . . so that's why I didn't die back at the Burrow, when Ginny . . ."

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "As long as Voldemort lived, he tethered you to this world."

"You knew?" said Ginny. "You told Harry he had to take the Killing Curse to destroy the part of Voldemort's soul that was in him . . . but never told him he would _live_?"

Harry could sense Ginny's anger building and knew that she was thinking of how hard it had been to deal with what they had believed to be his unavoidable death. Harry, however, felt only confusion.

Dumbledore gave a remorseful nod. "And it had to be Voldemort who cast the curse. The piece of his soul had been with you, Harry, for nearly all your life and had grown too strong, too attached. Only Voldemort, who had bonded himself to you in so many ways, could remove that which he had erroneously placed within you. Of course, as you have shown, there was one other way to separate your soul from Riddle's, but I would _never_ have considered such a risk."

All around Harry, his otherworldly visitors glared at Dumbledore in a way that indicated they had also been kept in the dark, but had since learned the truth and had not yet forgiven the aged wizard.

"Why? Why didn't you tell me?"

Dumbledore's bright blue eyes implored Harry to understand.

"Because I believed that I _knew_ you, Harry. Knew you well enough to make a decision for you, one that you could not make. My intention was for you to have stood before Voldemort ready to die for those you love and for the good of the wider wizarding world. As you now know, Voldemort could not have killed you, but you would have _meant_ to die, and that was the key. For as both your mother and Miss Weasley have shown us, that kind of sacrifice grants an unbeatable defense to those it is intended to protect. Do you see, Harry? I believed without a doubt that, given the choice, you would do anything within your power to protect those you love. But had I told you the whole truth – had you known that you would _not_ die – your actions would not have been a true sacrifice and the magic would not have worked. My aim was to render Tom Riddle mortal while making his enemies invincible."

Harry wrestled with what he had just been told. He felt that he should resent having been further manipulated into being a part of Dumbledore's secret plans, but he could not muster any anger. Dumbledore was right, after all. Had he, Harry, been told the whole story and then learned that he had squandered a chance to keep everyone safe, he would have never forgiven himself or his former headmaster. Ginny opened her mouth to no doubt protest on Harry's behalf, but he spoke first.

"It's all right," he said. "You were right."

Dumbledore did not appear relieved. When he spoke again, his lined face was graver still.

"Had I known the desperate measures you would be driven to take . . ."

"How could you have been so foolish, Harry?" said James, who for the first time pierced Harry with a look of pain and anger. "Taking on those Dementors at King's Cross . . . It's one thing to risk your life, but your _soul_?"

"What?" said Ginny, who swept a stunned look from James to Harry.

"It's really gone, though?" said Harry, temporarily avoiding Ginny's questioning eyes and the certain distress his explanation would cause. "His part of soul that was in me, and the rest of him, too? He can't come back?"

"No," said Dumbledore. "No, we have seen the very last of Tom Riddle, in either this world or the next. His only hope was to feel true remorse for the things he had done, for remorse is the one thing that could have repaired a soul as damaged as his. I sought Merope Gaunt primarily as a distraction – something to aid you in your fight – but I admit that I still nurtured a small hope that she might have gotten through to her son. As Tom later learned to his detriment, there is no force in this universe greater than love. But alas, he had taken himself beyond the salvation that it could have provided."

There was a long silence that left each of them alone with their thoughts. Ginny did not question Harry further, but he knew that someday soon he would tell her everything – now that they were finally free to be together, he did not want there to be any secrets between them. The next time Harry looked up, it was because he noticed his mother returning. Her arms were folded tightly in front of her but she appeared to have calmed down. Harry did not spot Snape anywhere behind her.

"What's the verdict?" said James.

"He's a git," she said, earning a gruff chuckle from Sirius. "But we've reached an understanding. He's gone away again for a while, but I told him that when he gets back, he could come to see us if he wants." Lily sighed and let her arms fall to her sides. "He's . . . lived with a lot of pain and regret for a long time. It doesn't excuse how he acted, but now that it's all behind him . . ." She shrugged. "He has to get used to living without that kind of burden. Maybe someday, when he's finally at peace . . ."

"I wish I'd gotten to thank him," said Harry to many stunned looks. "He didn't exactly make life easy, but I owe him something for looking out for me all those years, even if he hated doing it."

Harry expected Sirius, at least, to sound his disagreement, but nobody said anything and another silence fell over the group. Finally, Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"I am afraid that it is at last time for us to go."

Lily's face fell as she gave Harry a look of sorrow. With Ginny's help, Harry managed to stand and share goodbyes with those whose love and support had meant everything to him. He knew that he would see them again one day – that a long and hopefully happy life would end not with sadness and the dread of death, but with a cherished reunion – but he still felt the loss keenly as he accepted his father's final words of pride and his mother's farewell.

"Look after him, Ginny," said Lily, smiling through pearly tears. "Of all the incredible things my son has done, I'm proudest that he chose you." Crying herself, Ginny temporarily forgot the situation and reached out to Lily only to catch empty air. Harry hugged her in his mother's place, and Lily beamed at them both while she wiped at her cheeks.

"Don't sit around on your arse," Fred told George. "Don't forget all the plans we had; all the things we said we'd do. I'll be checking in from time to time, and I want a good laugh."

"You can count on me," chuckled George, sniffling while his mother gripped him tightly.

Others exchanged final farewells and then Harry's guests gathered to leave, never to return. Harry had agreed to destroy the Resurrection Stone with the Elder Wand as soon as his magic replenished itself, so that his loved ones could finally rest in peace.

"Professor," said Harry a moment before his visitors were to vanish. "I mean . . . Albus." Dumbledore smiled. "You did it, sir. We might have finished things, but we could never have done this without you. Thank you for . . . for everything. Thank you for believing in me."

Dumbledore gave a very watery smile and then removed his half-moon spectacles to dab at his eyes. Harry's parents each placed a hand upon his shoulders as he repeatedly cleaned his glasses with his robes, stalling for time while tears continued to drop. Finally, Dumbledore returned his frames to his long, crooked nose and spoke in a voice choked with emotion.

"Live a very long and happy life, Harry. Until we meet again . . ."

And then they were gone.

Harry was filled with a sudden emptiness as he continued to stare at the spot where they had stood, but then he felt Ginny's arms wrap around to squeeze him tightly, and his feeling of loss lessened a little.

"Your parents are amazing people, Harry," said Mr. Weasley, who gripped Harry's shoulder with one hand and Ginny's with the other. "You'll always miss them, but never forget that you still have family left here, too."

"That's right, dear," said Mrs. Weasley, who joined her husband and clasped Harry's hand in both of hers. "Arthur and I already think of you as a son, and we would be thrilled if you considered us to be . . . not replacements for your mother and father – no one could ever be that – but family, still."

"That goes for us too, mate," said Ron. Hermione, who stood next to him, reached out to take Harry's other hand.

Harry stared into all of their smiling faces, his heart fit to burst, and could only nod.

A few minutes later, Harry and those who remained were joined by others: Hagrid, whose eyes were still puffy from when he had reunited with Harry earlier, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, whom Harry had been told was chosen to be the temporary Minister of Magic.

"I'm very sorry to have to bother you, Harry," said Kingsley in his deep, slow voice, "but I must ask one more thing of you. With Voldemort dead and all the Death Eaters accounted for – it was nice of him to round them all up for us – we must quickly retake control of the wizarding world; ensure that the right plans and people are put in place while we restore order. The next few hours are critical, and to do my job properly, I need to know about everything that's happened. I have to be at the Ministry, and I'd like for you to come with me and tell me as much as you can."

"But he's in no shape to go anywhere," protested Mrs. Weasley. "He been seriously hurt, Kingsley; he needs his rest."

"I'm sorry, Molly; I wouldn't ask if there was any other way. But I've got to put our world back together, and I don't fully understand how it was broken – how Voldemort ran things; what his plans were; what exactly he hoped to achieve today. Anything Harry could tell me would help. I've asked Madame Pomfrey to come with us; she can make sure that Harry is properly cared for."

"I'll do it," said Harry. He was still in pain, still exhausted beyond belief, but he understood the urgency of the moment. After everything their victory had cost, he did not want to leave any part of their world's recovery to chance.

"Then I'm coming too," said Ginny, gripping Harry's arm more tightly.

"We'll all go," added Mrs. Weasley, who seemed panicked at the idea of letting Harry or her daughter out of her sight at the moment.

Harry was torn as he looked at Ginny's face, which was still smeared with dirt and dried blood. The thought of leaving her, even for a few hours, seemed unbearable. But while he was willing to push through his own pain and discomfort, he would rather she be resting in bed at the Burrow. And more importantly, Harry wanted something else that he struggled to put into words.

"Ginny . . . you can come if you want, but I'd like for you to go home with your family. It'll be hard enough to relive everything that's happened; it would make me feel better if you didn't have to go through it all again, too. And . . . I'd like to know that when I finish with Kingsley, all of this will be behind me. When I see you again at the Burrow, I want it to be a fresh start. Does that make sense?"

Ginny stared into his eyes for several moments and then gave a resigned nod. It pained Harry to ask her for this because he knew how hard it would be to let her leave if their roles were reversed. But she had always understood him so well, better than anyone else, and she must have sensed that this was truly what he needed. She hugged him tighter than ever and placed her head on his shoulder.

"I'll miss you," she whispered. "Please hurry home."

_Home_. The word caused Harry's heart to swell even more.

"I will. And this time it will be to stay."

Ginny sniffled and smiled against his neck.

"I like the sound of that," she said. "No more fighting or hiding, just time to . . . to be _us_. To be together."

"All the time in the world," said Harry.

* * *

Next:

Epilogue (available now)


	17. Epilogue: After the Prophecy

**UPDATE 12/20/12:** I've just finished my first original novel, which I plan to self-publish, and I'm looking for beta-readers to give general feedback as I brush it up. It's the first entry in a planned YA adventure series that, while not set in a world like Harry Potter's, should very much appeal to Potter fans. If anyone reading this would consider checking it out, please PM me and I'll give you more info. I'd greatly appreciate it!

* * *

**The World I Leave Behind  
**Epilogue: After the Prophecy

Hermione Granger took a deep breath and spoke to her reflection.

"Calm down, there's nothing to worry about. After everything you've been through, you can't be scared of _this_, surely." A giggle slipped past her lips, but it was frantic, not joyful. She watched her smile quickly fade from the bride-to-be in the mirror.

Hermione studied her reflection, her eyes roaming over the simple, traditional Muggle wedding dress. Her hair had been painstakingly pinned up to leave her neck and shoulders bare save for a borrowed necklace. Ginny, Fleur, and Mrs. Weasley had done a very good job on her, but Hermione's eyes were drawn only to the patchwork of discolored skin that covered every inch of her exposed exterior; the burn scars, caused by cursed flames, that could never be removed.

Hermione turned away from the mirror and stepped aimlessly into the center of Ginny's room, which was lit only by the dim, hazy rays of midday sun that soaked through the window's closed curtains. For the hundredth time Hermione wished she had found a gown that hid more of her, but this was the best she had come across during her short shopping trip that morning. The dress at least met the two requirements upon which she absolutely would not compromise: it had long sleeves to hide the Dark Mark on her forearm, and it was a traditional Muggle wedding gown, in honor of her parents.

With a shaky sigh, Hermione began to pace around the room while wringing her hands and fidgeting nervously with her dress. She had asked for a few minutes alone before joining the others downstairs to begin the ceremony. She could hear the muffled chatter of what sounded like a massive crowd in the orchard beyond the window – doubtlessly a much larger turnout than the more intimate gathering she had imagined – but had resisted the urge to peek through the curtains for fear that the sight would only increase her anxiety.

Was she crazy to go through with a wedding less than twenty-four hours after the final battle? When Ron proposed she had said yes without hesitation, but at the time it seemed unlikely they would both live another day. Hermione still trembled when she thought of everything they went through at Hogwarts, not to mention the traumatic past couple of weeks. She still had not begun to truly grieve for the loss of her mother and father . . .

No, this could not be the right time for a wedding. It seemed disrespectful somehow to hold any kind of celebration so soon after so many people had suffered, and while many still struggled to recover from everything they had endured. Hermione thought of those who had been wounded at Hogwarts, some very seriously, who still bore injuries despite the best efforts of Madame Pomfrey and the healers of St. Mungo's, who had worked tirelessly through the night. When Hermione had left Ron to go to bed – in Ginny's room, for the first time in several nights – he could barely stand. Hermione had not seen him since, and she grimaced as she imagined him laboring to put on dress robes.

Hermione quickened her pace as her restless mind continued to compile evidence that she was about to make a big mistake, one that she could not avoid for fear of hurting Ron. She truly loved him and could not imagine a future in which they were not together, but now that the danger had passed – now that a long life stretched out before them – they suddenly seemed too young to rush into marriage.

Hermione took a deep breath and worked to bring her worries under control so that she could present a calm façade – she would not burden Ron with her distress – but her nerves were stretched so tight that she jumped at the sound of a soft knock against the open door. When she shot a startled look at the doorway, however, she felt the first faint sense of relief.

"Harry!"

He stood there in dress robes – his hand still raised, frozen in its last knock – and gazed at her with a slightly slack-jawed expression.

"Wow, Hermione. You look . . ."

"Where have you _been_?" Hermione interrupted. She crossed the room as fast as her dress would allow and threw her arms around Harry's neck, pulling him into a tight hug. "We waited for you for as long as we could after we received Kingsley's owl, but then all of the guests arrived and we could only make them wait for so long, and –"

Harry cut in when Hermione took a frantic gulp of air.

"I'm really sorry, Hermione. I went as fast as I could, but Kingsley had a lot of questions – we were at it all night – and . . . and I just wanted to get through them and finally be done with it all, you know? But I wasn't going to miss this, not for anything."

Harry stiffened as Hermione sniffled against his shoulder. "Are . . . are you crying? Hermione, I'm _really_ sor –"

"No, it's . . . it's not that," said Hermione, who pulled away and began to wipe her eyes before catching herself. "Oh, Fleur will have a fit if I mess up my makeup." In a flash, Harry conjured a handkerchief and handed it to her. "Thanks," she said with a flicker of a smile as she carefully dabbed at her eyes. Harry waited patiently and did not press.

Her eyes dry, Hermione sighed and let her arm fall limp, where her hands joined to absentmindedly clutch the wadded-up cloth. She plopped down onto her bed without thinking, causing her skirt to puff up and bunch around her legs. "Great," she groaned. "Now I've probably ruined my dress."

Harry slid a chair next to the bed and sat down. Hermione looked around the room, unsure of what to say until a new concern surfaced and caused her to refocus on Harry.

"How are you doing?" she said, scrutinizing the circles under his eyes and the faint scratches that still marked his face. She felt a pang of guilt for obsessing over her own worries when her best friend had been through much more.

Harry gave a small smile. "Fine. Never better."

Despite his casual tone, Hermione could tell that he meant it. Looking more closely, she saw that Harry was different somehow – that despite the fatigue and lingering injuries, he seemed more at peace than she could ever remember seeing him.

"You did it," she said, as pride, gratitude, and love for her friend burst inside her. A wide smile spread across her face, and Harry's grin stretched to match.

"Yeah. We all did."

Hermione continued to beam at Harry, her worries temporarily pushed aside. Against impossible odds, they had survived. And until that moment, Hermione had never allowed herself to seriously consider how improbable that outcome had always been. Although she could not simply forget her current concerns, she knew they were nothing compared to what she, Harry, Ron, and the others had already overcome. Before her swelling emotions could threaten to undo more of Fleur's hard work, Hermione shifted to a safer subject.

"Have you seen Ron or Ginny?"

"No, I Apparated out front and came straight inside. I looked for Ginny downstairs and in our room – thanks for leaving these robes out for me, by the way – but I couldn't find her so I came to check in here."

"Ginny picked those out," said Hermione, with a nod toward Harry's dress robes. "She's outside with everyone else, waiting for me."

Harry's gaze turned serious again. "Everything all right?"

"Yes . . . well, it's just . . ." As the mass of swirling worries spilled back into Hermione's head, she struggled to put them into words, and hesitated to delve too deeply into her concerns. "You know me; always worrying over the details. I just can't seem to turn my brain off."

"Well," said Harry, shrugging, "isn't that what Ron is for?"

Hermione stared at Harry, blank-faced, as his simple observation hit her with a surprising force.

She knew how she felt about Ron and could list all of the qualities she admired in him, but until that moment she had never put it all together to fully understand why, despite being so different, they fit together so well – how his playful, carefree attitude was the perfect balance for her drive and obsessive nature; how she had come to count on the comfort of his presence.

Of _course_ she had been on edge all morning – half of her had been missing.

It may have been obvious to Harry, but for Hermione – who tended to observe and categorize everything in life in an analytical, bullet-point way – it was a revelation. How could she have any reservations about marrying Ron today, _this minute_, when they were already two parts of a whole?

She had only one lingering concern.

"You don't think it's too soon, do you? I mean, having a wedding just a day after . . . everything?"

A crease formed between Harry's eyebrows as he considered his response. After a brief pause, his face softened and he appeared to come to a realization of his own.

"I can only speak for myself, but I've spent years – my whole life, really – with Voldemort hanging over my head, and I'm not giving him another day. Living life, being happy – that's the real victory." With a nod to himself, he turned a soft smile to Hermione. "The only bad thing about having a wedding _today_ is that you couldn't have had it sooner."

With no care for Fleur's carefully applied mascara, Hermione – bleary-eyed and beaming – leaned forward to crush Harry to her.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I love you, Harry."

"Love you too, Hermione."

Harry patted her back, and Hermione – sniffling but still grinning wide – released his neck to take his hands in each of hers. Riding the surge of emotion that she felt for him, she looked into his face and acted on a sudden inspiration.

"Would . . . would you walk me down the aisle? I was going to go by myself since, you know, my father can't . . . can't be here. But besides Ron, obviously, you're the closest thing I have to family now."

Harry sat stunned for one brief moment before he could respond.

"Is that . . . can I _do_ that? I mean, that doesn't break any rules, or –?"

"The number-one rule at a wedding is that nobody can say no to the bride . . . not even the 'Chosen One.'" Hermione leveled a severe stare at Harry, but her eyes glinted with mirth. Harry relaxed.

"Then, yeah . . . I'd be honored, Hermione."

"Well then, I suppose I've kept everyone waiting long enough." Hermione, bubbling over with renewed excitement, sprang to her feet, smoothed out her dress, and hurried to the mirror to check that everything was perfectly in place. When she turned to Harry, ready to leave, he smiled and held out his arm. She reached to take it, but paused as she noticed something. She took his sleeve – which had bunched around his elbow, exposing part of his arm – and pushed it all the way up.

"Harry," she breathed. "Your Dark Mark – it's gone!"

"Oh, yeah," said Harry. "I almost forgot . . ." He reached inside his robes and pulled out the Elder Wand. Hermione gasped.

"You still have it?" she said in a shocked whisper. Hermione stared in awe at the wand, which seemed to radiate power.

"Yeah, just for today; this thing draws too much attention. Tomorrow I'm taking it to Hogwarts to put it back where it belongs, with Dumbledore. Without a new master, its power should be canceled when I die a natural death. It's what Dumbledore had intended to do when he arranged his death with Snape, to keep anyone else from ever abusing the wand." Harry gave a wry grin. "But considering what we had to go through to get it, I thought we deserved to use it for just one day. See, when I combine the power of the wand with my extra magical abilities . . . well, let me just show you."

Hermione felt her heart beat faster as Harry turned the world's most powerful wand on her, but she did not flinch from it.

"Now," said Harry, smiling encouragingly. "Just hold still . . ."

* * *

Ron Weasley stood in the orchard under the leafy canopy of a large, shady tree he had often climbed as a child. The midday sun shone directly above in a cloudless blue sky, but its warmth was comfortably mild. A gentle breeze swept across the grass and rustled the leaves, joining other soft sounds that Ron had always associated with summer.

He stood across from Ginny – Hermione's maid-of-honor, who wore the same golden dress she had used for Fleur's wedding – and between them was the aged, tufty-haired wizard who had married Bill and Fleur, whom Ron's mother had been thrilled to locate on such short notice.

Ron watched the backdoor of the Burrow expectantly, with nary a thought for the many eyes that watched him. Nearly three hundred witches and wizards had shown up for the wedding, most of them uninvited but welcome just the same. Some bore the marks of having fought alongside Ron not even twenty-four hours ago, while others had just come out of hiding. As word of the wedding had quickly spread from those who had been at Hogwarts to witness Ron's proposal, the event had taken on a larger meaning: a gathering to celebrate a bright new chapter in the wizarding world. The mass of people – most of whom stood, as there weren't nearly enough chairs – were divided into two enormous halves by the empty aisle that stretched from Ron to the Burrow.

Had Ron, as a younger man, somehow been able to glimpse this day, he would have fixated on the shabby, second-hand nature of the event, on his borrowed dress robes and mismatched leftover decorations. Far from the grandeur of Bill's wedding under the marquee, Ron's hastily arranged event was little more than an impromptu party in the backyard of his family home, a place that he had always regarded as something of an embarrassment. But Ron no longer thought of himself as poor, or as the last in line for his brothers' hand-me-down possessions. He had the best of friends, a loving family, a limitless future, and the perfect person to share that future with. On this glorious day, Ron felt as though he were the richest wizard in the world. His only discomfort came from the empty space at his side reserved for his best man.

"A Galleon says he cries when he sees her," said George, who was seated a few feet away in the front row with the rest of Ron's family. George had addressed Percy, but had clearly made sure to speak loudly enough for Ron to hear.

"Hmm," pondered Percy. "Are we talking about a slight tear in the eye, or proper waterworks like Bill at his wedding?"

"What?" said Bill, who sat farther down the row with his wife and daughter. "I did _not_ cry."

"I wouldn't take that bet, Perce," warned Charlie, ignoring Bill. "Look at Ron – he's about to bubble over, just standing there."

"Oh, bugger off," said Ron with a glance at his brothers.

"All right then," George continued, "the bet is _two_ Galleons; Ron must shed tears from _both_ eyes, properly wet both cheeks, and at least one tear must drip onto his dress robes. In short, he has to cry _even more_ than Bill did."

"I didn't cry!" Bill repeated.

"Eet was _so_ romantic," said Fleur, wistfully. "When I saw you begin to cry, I could not hold back my own tears any longer."

"I, well," Bill fumbled. "You . . . just looked so beautiful coming down the aisle . . ."

George and the others sniggered as Bill lost himself in Fleur's adoring gaze, and were shushed by Mrs. Weasley, who sat with her husband at the end of the row, next to the aisle. The boys quieted immediately and were silent for several seconds until their mother, who beamed at Ron, spoke.

"George, put me down for two galleons."

Ron scrutinized his mother's strange smirk and tried to discern the mystery behind it. Minutes ago she had gone upstairs to check on Hermione, then hurried back – strangely overjoyed and with watery eyes – to usher Ron and Ginny into taking their places. Before Ron could puzzle over his mother's odd behavior for long, however, his attention was snatched away by the sudden start of violin music that signaled the impending arrival of the bride.

The seated guests stood to join Ron in watching the backdoor, and for the first time, Ron felt nervous. He gulped and glanced anxiously at Ginny, who gave him an encouraging smile.

And then Ginny was gone, along with the rest of Ron's family and the hundreds of guests. In that moment, only Hermione existed as she stepped lightly from the house onto the grass. She was radiant in her white wedding gown, and somehow – impossibly – every visible inch of her pale skin was smooth and clear, and no longer bore any reminder that Ron had nearly lost her in the blaze.

Ron felt his face twist as he began to cry, but he did not care. Hermione's beaming face found his, and her tears spilled over, too. She became so overcome with emotion that, for several seconds, she appeared unable to take another step as she watched Ron and wept. Ron knew exactly what she was feeling, because he felt it, too. This moment, more than any other – more, even, than witnessing the Dark Lord's destruction – made everything real, made Ron realize just what they had accomplished and what they had been given. Months – _years_ – of pent-up dreams and longings, of fears and frustrations, now came pouring out.

Ron noticed that Harry was at Hermione's side only when he helped her forward. Ron's best man had made it after all. The crowds on both sides of the aisle stood in silence while Hermione and Harry walked slowly between them, across the garden and up the slight hill to the tree where Ron waited. When Hermione at last stood before him, Ron tried to speak but could not find the words. The couple simply stared at each other, grinning ear to ear while wiping at their eyes. Ron became aware of his mother, who was sobbing so hard that it looked as though she was being held in her seat by his father's arm around her. And standing across from him, Ron noticed that Ginny, too, had tears streaking down her cheeks, but her eyes were set solely on Harry, whose gaze returned the same desperate kind of devotion that Ron felt for Hermione in that moment.

"W-Well," said Hermione, who had turned her wide smile to Ginny. "What are you waiting for?"

Ginny spluttered a single laugh and stepped forward to fling her arms around Harry, who met her with a passionate kiss. The crowd roared its approval, cheering on the couple that had saved them all, as Ron and Hermione added their applause.

The ceremony was brief – or rather, it seemed short to Ron, who focused only on Hermione's glowing face and was largely unaware of the proceedings until prodded to recite his vows. But he would never forget the joyous tears in Hermione's eyes as she said, "I do," or their incredible first kiss as man and wife.

* * *

Ginny Weasley struggled to focus on her duties as maid-of-honor and not on the boy who had once again come back to her, this time to stay. Thankfully, Harry stuck by her side and helped usher the bride and groom from place to place, otherwise Ginny was sure that she would have abandoned her brother and new sister-in-law to find Harry and settle into some quiet, secluded spot where they might never have been heard from again. She and Harry led the new Mr. and Mrs. Weasley through the mass of mingling guests, who all filed forth to convey their congratulations. The happy day seemed to shine even more brightly against the backdrop of the dark times they were leaving behind. As Ginny was met with countless smiles, it was hard to believe that she still stood in the same world in which she had spent years in constant danger; where she had been forced to endure the ruthless rule of the Carrows, live as a prisoner in her own home, and suffer the loss of loved ones. But as she constantly exchanged glances and fleeting touches with one such person she had believed lost, it began to sink in that this truly was her world now, one filled with boundless love and hope instead of dread and despair.

Only a month ago Ginny could barely manage to leave her bed, but she had finally reclaimed her strength and had at last stood at Harry's side, proving to herself and others that she belonged there. But as overjoyed as she was to have Harry – and she could barely fathom the enormity of the opportunity they had been given – Ginny's heart also swelled for her family. She shuddered as she thought back to the private goodbyes they had exchanged before heading to Hogwarts, when it seemed impossible that they would all make it through the day alive. But here were her mother and father as happy as Ginny had ever seen them as they greeted guests, never letting go of each other's hands. George was chatting up a group of pretty witches with Percy at his side looking awkward but eager. Charlie laughed heartily with Hagrid, and Bill – whose scarred face Harry had at last returned to normal with the power of the Elder Wand – held his daughter close and stared unblinkingly into his wife's misty gaze. And although there would always be a hole in the family where Fred should be, his absence was not as keenly felt now that they knew him to be happy and at peace.

As the celebration continued, Ginny's day was a blur of laughter and smiling faces, even among those who still bore painful injuries. Many people approached Harry to express their gratitude for all that he had done, and to thank Ginny too, for the role she had played in the Dark Lord's defeat. But no one pressed the couple for further details, and seemed content to simply and respectfully express their appreciation.

In what seemed like the blink of an eye it was time to eat, and Ginny and Harry helped set the many rows of tables that, as with the chairs during the ceremony, were not nearly enough to seat everyone. It would have been impossible for even Mrs. Weasley to feed so many with so little time to prepare, but thankfully many of the guests had brought their own dishes to contribute to the meal. Ginny and Harry joined Ron and Hermione at the head table and sat as they had been arranged during the ceremony, with Ginny next to Hermione and Harry resuming his place on Ron's other side. Harry leaned forward to look longingly across the newlyweds at Ginny, who chuckled because she, too, felt an almost irrational need to keep in constant contact. But it was impossible for Ginny not to enjoy herself in the continuous radiance of Hermione's joy, and Harry also appeared to appreciate this special moment with Ron.

Midway through their meal, Ginny heard the voice of the old tufty-haired wizard from the ceremony and looked up to see him bent over by Harry's ear.

"Mr. Potter," he wheezed, appearing a little hesitant to disturb the savior of the wizarding world. "It is customary for the best man to say a few words . . ."

"You don't have to, Harry," interjected Hermione. "Really, we don't want to put you on the spot –"

"No, it's all right," said Harry. "It's, um . . . tradition." Ginny could sense the hesitance in Harry; could see the tenseness behind his uneasy smile. She noticed, just as Harry did, how everyone seated within earshot had suddenly frozen with their forks held in midair and their eager faces turned toward the Chosen One, desperate to hear what their savior might say. Ginny knew, as Hermione must, how uncomfortable Harry was with this kind of attention. When, after many moments, none of the onlookers returned to eating and the tufty-haired wizard did not go away, Harry put down his fork and pushed back from the table.

"No time like the present, I suppose," he said. Ron made a motion to halt his friend, but Harry shrugged him off with a smile. He stood, cast his gaze over the sea of rapt faces, and took a deep breath.

"Um . . . hello, everyone . . ."

The aged wizard, still at Harry's side, gently put his wand tip to Harry's throat and muttered, "_Sonorus_."

"Oh," boomed Harry's magically magnified voice, which now carried clearly across his entire audience. "Well, thanks everyone, for coming. Um . . ."

Lost for words, Harry seemed to stall for time while he looked affectionately at Ron and Hermione. Ginny sat helplessly in her seat, feeling an urge to help him somehow. It really was too soon to expect Harry to address so many people. Harry scratched the back of his neck and began again.

"You know, if someone had told me a day ago that I would be here right now to celebrate something so wonderful with all of you . . ." Harry did not finish the thought, but his point was clear: not many would have bet on this outcome to the final battle against Voldemort. "But Ron . . . Ron knew. He's probably the only one here that made any plans for today." Chuckles rippled through the crowd as Harry smiled down at his friend. "He's always been kind of stubborn like that, and let me tell you, that's gotten us through some pretty rough spots over the years. Ron is everything you would hope to have in a best mate: he's a laugh; he knows everything there is to know about Quidditch; and he's always up for whatever stupid idea you might come up with."

There were more chuckles as Ron grinned and gave a conceding nod.

"And Hermione," Harry went on, shifting his eyes to the beaming bride. "Anyone who has met Hermione knows how incredibly smart she is, but what a lot of you might not realize is that this isn't nearly the most impressive thing about her. She has an enormous heart, she doesn't back down from what she believes in, and despite her extraordinary brainpower, she's thankfully too stupid to give up on lost causes."

"Thank Merlin for that," chuckled Ron, and everyone laughed as Hermione, smiling but blushing horribly, looked down at the table.

Harry's grin faded, however, as he gazed at Hermione and appeared to consider his next words. When the crowd quieted and Harry spoke again, his tone was softer and more serious.

"Hermione, you're joining an amazing family . . . the best one I've ever known. And . . . and I'm sure that having the support of such wonderful people means as much to your parents as it does to mine."

Hermione spluttered a sudden sob and Ginny took her hand. Ron stretched his arm across his wife's shoulders, but Hermione did not seem distraught; rather, she looked at Harry with a solemn kind of appreciation in her watery eyes.

"You know," continued Harry, just as seriously, "I never really had a choice about . . . about what I had to do, but Ron and Hermione did. Most people – most _sane_ people – would have walked the other way when they saw me coming; when they found out what a bad idea it was to be my friend. A lot of people did, actually. But Ron and Hermione didn't. And I don't know that I'll ever really understand why that was – why I deserved two such amazing friends – but I will always be thankful and I'll never be able to repay them because, if it weren't for them, I wouldn't be here today. None of us would."

The crowd sat very still as, for several silent moments, Ron and Hermione met Harry's gaze with fervent looks that clearly conveyed they felt the same way about him. With his eyes still upon them, Harry cleared his throat and again addressed the crowd.

"Like a lot of people, Ron and Hermione have suffered. But like the best of us, they never gave up hope, and never stopped fighting for the happiness they deserved. I wish I could say the same, but there have been times when I thought everything was lost; when I couldn't see a way forward. But as I look at my friends now, together and happy on this perfect day . . . I don't think I'll ever again doubt that better days are always just over the horizon." Harry turned his eyes to Ginny, and his soft smile held the promise of more dreams fulfilled. If she had not been holding Hermione's hand, Ginny very likely would have forgotten where she was and rose to embrace him.

"Well," Harry concluded, "I don't know what else to say except that I love you both, and that I couldn't be happier for you today." Harry raised his glass, and hundreds more followed his into the air. "To Ron and Hermione."

Everyone repeated the toast and drank, then applauded enthusiastically as the couple stood to trade hugs with Harry. With effort, Ginny remained in her chair. But when the three retook their seats, she leaned forward to catch Harry's eye from across the table and mouthed the words _I love you_. A wide grin lit Harry's face, and he mouthed back _I love you, too_.

As soon as they could leave the head table without being impolite, Ginny and Harry cut short their meals and stuck together for the rest of the day's events. They were the first to join Ron and Hermione on the orchard's makeshift dance floor after the newlyweds shared their first dance, and Ginny laughed delightfully at Harry's enthusiastic impromptu moves, which he performed with no care at all for those who might be watching. They stayed for song after song, no matter how much their feet began to ache, reveling in this magical moment that encapsulated everything good about their world. Family and friends twirled around them, laughing and acting as though the dark days were already well behind them. Ginny would have sworn that she actually heard professor McGonagall _giggle_ as she danced past with professor Flitwick, who came only to her knees. And Luna, who had Neville copying all of her oddest dance moves, seemed just like her old self. Surrounded by everyone she loved at the happiest she could ever remember seeing them, Ginny wished that those moments would never end. But when the music slowed and Harry held her close, Ginny thought back to their last dance under the stars and found herself longing to leave, to find someplace where she and Harry could be quite alone and remain undisturbed for the remainder of the day.

When they had at last exhausted every ounce of energy, Ginny and Harry collapsed at a nearby table filled with several old schoolmates. They talked Quidditch with some of their Gryffindor teammates and reminisced with Seamus and Dean about their happier times at Hogwarts, with any past animosity between Ginny's ex-boyfriend and the love of her life forgotten.

Ginny left Harry's side just once more to join the other single witches in an attempt to catch Hermione's bouquet. Dozens of girls gathered, but Ginny was determined to win and had gotten to the spot early to secure a position at the front of the crowd. Hermione gave Ginny a pointed look as if to say_ it's coming your way_ before she turned and tossed the bouquet over her shoulder, but as it turned out, Ginny did not need her help. After Ginny had leapt forward and caught the flowers, it took her several seconds to realize that many onlookers were laughing, and another few moments to figure out why. All of the other girls were still several steps behind her, packed tightly together and clamoring indignantly as they pressed uselessly against some kind of invisible wall. Ginny spotted Harry leaning against a nearby tree with his hands in his pockets, and did not need his guilty smile to guess that wandless magic was at work. Jostling for position against the other girls had enflamed Ginny's competitive fire to such a degree that she felt a fleeting impulse to scold Harry for helping her win, but when she reached him, she instead responded to his gesture with such passionate snogging that her mother had to eventually be sent to pry her off him.

A middle-aged wizard who Ginny did not know had brought a camera and offered to act as the wedding photographer, and he had taken many shots throughout the day of Ron and Hermione posed with various groups of guests. It wasn't until the sun had almost set, however, that everyone from Ginny's family managed to gather for one last photo with the couple before they left for Shell Cottage, which Bill and Fleur had offered to the newlyweds for their wedding night. Bone-tired but still beaming, Ron and Hermione stood patiently in the center while Mrs. Weasley worked to direct her distracted sons into the perfect positions around them. Eventually, Mr. Weasley stood by Ron and Mrs. Weasley by Hermione, with Charlie, Percy, and George crowded onto one side and Bill, Fleur, and Victoire on the other. At her mother's instructions, Ginny stood in the very middle, her short frame doing little to obscure the bride and groom behind her. Everyone smiled and stilled as the photographer raised his camera.

"Wait!" cried Ginny, who suddenly noticed someone missing. She walked past the photographer to stop at the boy standing sheepishly a few steps behind him, who watched the Weasleys as he so often did, with the wonder of a child who had grown up never knowing a father's pride or a mother's kiss.

"Harry," Ginny said softly, "you're a part of this family, too." She held out her hand and Harry took it amid calls from the others to come join them. He smiled gently and let Ginny lead him back to the group, where Ron and Hermione reached out to pull them both into the center of the shot. As Harry looked into the lens of the camera, Ginny glanced sideways to see tears welling up in his eyes. She clenched his hand tighter and, a second before the flashbulb popped, whispered into his ear.

"You're home now, Harry."

* * *

Harry Potter's stomach growled as he breathed in the delicious scent of the sausages that hissed and popped in the pan. During the month that followed the wedding, Harry had spent many mornings discovering that he enjoyed cooking when it was for someone who, unlike the Dursleys, appreciated his efforts. He was finding many new joys in simple, everyday things now that his days were no longer overshadowed by past burdens.

Harry was dressed only in pajama bottoms that hung low and loose around his hips, and the late-morning sun shone through the kitchen window to tint his bare skin with a honeyed hue. He glanced out at the rolling green hills and pictured where the Burrow must be, low enough in the distant valley to just barely be out of sight. It was comforting to know that the Weasleys were so close, but Harry was also glad to have a bit of privacy, which had been the whole point of building he and Ginny their own home.

The entire family had tackled the project almost immediately after the wedding, following two straight nights in which Harry and Ginny forgot to cast silencing charms upon their shared bedroom. The Weasleys were fairly forgiving of those embarrassing indiscretions, but everyone agreed that it would be best for the couple – who could not keep their hands off each other – to be on their own for a while. Their new home wasn't much to look at – a single-story, one-bedroom version of the Burrow, just as rickety and held together mostly by magic – but for Harry, who had known nothing but indescribable happiness there, it was the best house he had ever been in.

He heard the soft release of bedsprings from the other side of the wall, followed by the slow patter of Ginny's bare feet across their bedroom floor, but held back on looking toward the doorway to savor the effect of seeing her for the first time that day.

"Mmmmm," came an appreciative moan. "Something smells _really_ good . . ."

Smiling, Harry finally allowed himself to take his first full look at Ginny, who stood in the kitchen entrance looking deliciously disheveled. She wore only the matching top to Harry's trousers, which rose high on her naked thighs as she yawned and stretched her arms high above her head. Harry basked in this image of perfection while the tiny part of his brain that was still capable of rational thought marveled at how her effect on him had not lessened one bit after weeks of having her all to himself. Instantly, his hunger took a backseat to other cravings.

"Watch your sausage," said Ginny, and – following her line of sight – Harry hastily pulled the pan from the stove as his breakfast began to burn.

"Thanks," he chuckled, making sure to keep his eyes away from Ginny's glorious distraction until he had properly handled his hot items. He sat the pan on the cutting board just in time, before Ginny pressed against his back and slid her hands around his chest.

"Wait'll I tell _Witch Weekly_ that the Chosen One can cook," she teased.

"I thought you were saving all of these juicy details for your tell-all book . . . ?"

"That's not until later; this would just be for a few galleons to tide me over until I join the Harpies."

Harry laughed. They played this game often, randomly choosing different plans and possible careers, because for the first time in their lives anything seemed possible.

"Well," Harry countered, "when I'm Minister of Magic, I'll pass publishing decree thirty-seven which prevents that boring ol' git Harry Potter from appearing in newspapers or magazines ever again."

"Ooh, Minister of Magic – I like that. Much more ambitious than driving the Knight Bus."

Harry chuckled at the mention of his previously proclaimed ambition. "Who says I can't do both?"

Ginny laughed and kissed his cheek before she took a seat at the room's tiny dining table. Harry sorted the sausages and several other breakfast items onto two plates, which he then placed on the table next to a pair of glasses filled with juice. He sat across from Ginny but did not join her when she began to eat.

"What?" asked Ginny, who stopped chewing when she noticed him staring at her.

"Nothing," said Harry, who smiled as he lowered his eyes to his plate and picked up his fork. "It's just that I'd forgotten that you still look this good with clothes on."

Ginny grinned. The couple had not worn a stitch of clothing for the entirety of the previous day, whether they were indoors or outside flying their brooms, simply because they did not have to. They spent every moment living in excess – they ate mountains of sweets, played countless games, and made love whenever and wherever the mood struck them. Since neither of them had enjoyed the full, unbridled exuberance of a normal childhood, they made up for it now by indulging every whim and craving that came their way.

"Well, I wish I could say the same," said Ginny, "but I much prefer you without those trousers on."

Harry caught the mischievous sparkle in Ginny's eyes, but steeled himself against its power – his usual lack of self-control had led to many of his best breakfasts being wasted.

"Well," he reasoned, "they don't have to stay on all day . . ."

"Actually, they do," sighed Ginny as she returned to her plate. "Ron and Hermione get back today, remember? Mum wants us all at the Burrow by noon to welcome them home."

"Oh, yeah," said Harry, and he was so excited to see his friends again that he felt only a faint sense of disappointment at having to temporarily leave his private world with Ginny. Ron and Hermione had not traveled far for their honeymoon, which they had taken as an opportunity to reflect on everything they had been through rather than as a typical newlywed holiday. Ron had hoped to stop by a famous Quidditch shop and Hermione intended for them to visit the birthplace of a renowned magical historian, but their trip was to have also included a visit to the ruins of Hermione's family home to search for salvageable belongings, and – with the aid of ministry officials – a proper burial for her parents. Harry and Ginny had offered to join them for the funeral, but Hermione preferred to work through things alone, with only Ron's crucial support.

Ginny, like Harry, must have also been wondering how their friends' trip had gone, because the two of them ate silently for a minute before she introduced a new topic.

"Did I tell you that dad said more reporters had come by the house?"

"Brilliant," sighed Harry. "What is that, a dozen times already? I don't see why your dad won't just let me put some extra charms over the Burrow; those prats from the _Prophet_ wouldn't be able to get within a hundred feet."

"Don't worry about it," said Ginny with an airy wave of her fork. "Dad gets a laugh out of them never knowing that you're cuddled up here with me just a stone's throw away. But I was going to tell you that George caught Rita Skeeter buzzing around the broom shed and, well, he reckons that she still smells like Stinksap. Since he and Percy reopened the joke shop, George has taken to testing out his new products on anyone who comes looking to get the scoop on you."

Harry's frown curled into a smile. "Well, I guess that's all right, then. If George can come up with something strong enough to repel a pest like Rita Skeeter, then even the gnomes in the garden won't stand a chance."

"I think he probably could have gotten rid of those ages ago," chuckled Ginny, who stood and collected their empty dishes as Harry took his last bite. His eyes followed her to the sink where she sat the dishes on the counter, picked up the top plate, and put it under the tap. Ginny began to hum a soft melody as she worked, occasionally shifting her weight from one fair, flawless leg to the other while her hair glinted copper in the golden rays of sunlight.

As it so often happened during mundane moments like this, Harry was struck with a sudden, intense feeling of love for the woman he could still scarcely believe was his to hold onto. He pushed back his chair, stepped softly to Ginny's side, and reached into the stream of water to gently pull the plate from her fingers. When she turned to face him, Harry met her with a slow, burning kiss.

Water continued to flow from the faucet as the couple conveyed the depth of their feelings through each brush of their lips and every feather-light touch, but when Ginny slid her hands down Harry's back to dip her fingertips inside the waistband of his trousers, his feelings of tender affection began to take on a new edge.

"How . . . how long before we have to leave?" he asked, panting a little as he pulled away. Ginny glanced over his shoulder at a clock hung on the opposite wall, and groaned.

"Not long," she sighed. "We'd better start getting ready or we'll be late."

It was torture for Harry to end this, but it helped him somewhat to see that it bothered Ginny just as much. He blew out a deep breath that turned into a chuckle, and then gave her a weak smile.

"Well, I suppose this will have to wait, then."

Ginny bit her bottom lip and continued to gaze up at him with hungry eyes.

"Although," said Harry as he spotted a faint glimmer of hope, "we're going to need a _shower_ before we go . . ."

A wicked grin grew across Ginny's face, and then she grabbed Harry's wrist and pulled him across the house so fast that he nearly had to run to keep up with her. They stumbled through the bathroom door and, just as they had done every day since their new life began, made the most of every minute.

Harry knew the time would come when he would want to rejoin society – to find his new place in the wizarding world – but he was in no hurry. He was happy, content, and desperately in love.

The rest of his life could wait; he had all the time in the world.

* * *

The End.


End file.
